#‹ dialogue ➝ n . mitchell . ›

[mooniedust]

Modern Aemond Bot/Prompt.

Plot: Aemond and his family have started therapy, and each of them now has an emotional support animal. Aemond appears particularly enthusiastic about introducing his support animal to you.

TW: The only potentially surprising element is that the Greens are now in therapy.

With all my heart,

Moon Dust.

When Aemond and the rest of his morally questionable family finally gave in to the idea of therapy, you felt nothing but explicit pride. Not because you wished for your friend to become a domesticated animal, like a fierce dog that needed to be kept in check—a medicated lunatic.

In truth, the act of admitting the need for help is far more intricate than most might conceive; overcoming pride and confronting the skeletons buried in the past is a challenge that few would allow themselves to undertake.

You knew this firsthand, having walked that same thorny path yourself.

The Targaryens’ psychologist, an apparently skilled and dedicated woman, had managed to make each member of that peculiar family feel comfortable exploring their idiosyncrasies. Even Alicent, the ever-reserved and composed matriarch, had started attending the sessions, and you’d heard rumors that she was, in fact, talking about her feelings. It was something you never imagined witnessing: the Targaryen family coming together to discuss emotions like ordinary people.

It seemed as if the end of times was near.

It was a dramatic thought, yeah, but the truth is that everyone in the house seemed more open in a way that bordered on the surreal, almost as if a breath of normalcy was sneaking in among them. Even Aemond, who had once openly scorned therapy as a waste of time and money that could be better spent on something more "important," had changed his perspective.

Your interactions had become less frequent, an inevitable consequence of increasingly conflicting schedules. Nevertheless, there were still those monthly weekend meetings where you allowed yourself to collapse in Aemond’s impeccably arranged room. The environment was a curious mix of English literature books and volumes on business, an ironic juxtaposition that never failed to bring a smile to your face.

But that night, something was different. Aemond, unlike his usual self, didn’t let you lazily throw yourself onto his soft bed, sarcastically complaining about your classmates' artistic opinions. Instead, he approached, with an enigmatic gleam in his eyes, gently covering yours and the smile that accompanied the gesture conveyed a clear message, expressed in Aemond’s silent language:

Trouble.

You were guided around the room with careful precision, avoiding invisible furniture and obstacles until he finally removed his hands from your eyes. Before you, he stood with an unmistakable expression of pride, pointing to something new and surprising.

A tempered glass cage dominated one corner of the room, lushly filled with vegetation so rich that it made your mother’s modest garden look insignificant by comparison. But what really caught your attention was not the vegetation, but the creature that moved slowly within that habitat. Your mind initially thought of a snake—but no, it was bigger, much bigger.

Hell nah.

“Why do you have a Komodo dragon in your room?” Your voice sounded alarmed as your arms moved in broad gestures, pointing to the imposing lizard that was calmly enjoying a plump tomato.

The last time you saw a reptile of such impressive proportions was perhaps in some natural history book. The animal resembled a compact version of an alligator, every inch of its body exuding a primeval presence, you leaned in, instinctively, to get a better look, and the animal, with calculated insolence, flicked its tongue, provoking a sudden feeling of unease.

“This is Vhagar,” Aemond clarified with studied serenity. “She’s a Cyclura ricordii, an iguana, not a Komodo dragon, you idiot—my emotional support animal,” he added with an eye roll typical of his dry humor, as he opened the habitat and picked up the iguana with surprising tenderness.

Vhagar, in turn, seemed completely content with the attention she was receiving, wrapping her rough tail around Aemond’s arm, still nibbling on her tomato with the enthusiasm of a child savoring a sweet.

Of course, the psychologist would suggest an emotional support animal, and of course, Aemond wouldn’t settle for something simple like a cat. Not even one of those hairless cats with a stern appearance...what was their name again? But no, for him, nothing would do except a miniature "dragon."

“Do you want to hold her?” Aemond asked, extending Vhagar like a mother extending her baby toward you, his eyes challenging you to accept the invitation.

[dietpepzi]

'   so,   lover   boy   was   bragging   at   practice   today   that   he's   so   close   to   winning   you   back.   that   true,   or   are   you   just   messing   with   him   like   he   messed   up   with   you?   'cause   i'm   guessing   he   has   no   idea   about   us.   .   .   '

[nepotizma]

' so , your brother's going on a date tonight ... and he wants to make it a double date because his girl's got a friend . obviously i'm not interested but i figured i'd see what you wanted me to do ? i could go to keep him off the scent of us but if you're not cool with it , i can pretend i'm sick or something . '

[rbbrbikerthorp]

A New Neighbour Moves In

[Please note: all characters are 18 plus and any reference to boy or girl is purely descriptive or used in dialogue between the characters.]

Mitchell was living the life much like any typical 23 year old male would. He’d graduated university, he had started his career in recruitment for legal and financial services and was starting to earn good monthly commissions on top of his basic salary. He’d used all the money inherited from his grandparents to buy a 1-bedroom flat in a new development, just on the edge of the city centre. Mitchell didn’t have a steady girlfriend – he wasn’t in a long-term relationship place. As he told his mates at the gym, he was a ‘date them and ditch them’ once he’d managed to ‘get them in the sack’ kind of bloke.

It was a Monday morning and Mitchell needed to get to work. First, he had to navigate his way carefully out of the flat where he’d been invited to spend the night. The girl he’d met in the club the previous evening had taken a shine to his blue eyes, rugby toned body and wavy blonde hair. “Another notch on the bedpost,” Mitchell thought as he tiptoed his way out of the girl’s bedroom. Mitchell made it a policy to only meet women in person and he would never exchange contact details. It meant that none of his ‘conquests’ had any idea of how to find him and, as he was enjoying his ‘tom cat’ life so much, he sure didn’t want to be found. He went on his Uber app and requested a taxi. In less than two minutes one had pulled up in front of him. He took one last look up at the window to check the curtains were still closed and the car pulled away from the curb.

He arrived back at his flat in plenty of time to get ready for the day ahead. He shaved his weekend beard growth and then turned on the shower. Whilst the water warmed up, he took a moment to admire himself in the mirror. He loved how beefy his legs looked from the years of playing rugby first in secondary school and then in the university’s first team. His regular attendance at the gym meant he had a well-defined chest and arms. Women loved his bum as it stood out, firm and muscular. Yes, at that moment as he entered the shower cubicle Mitchell was very content with his life, but on this day, things were about to change.

As Mitchell locked his front door, he noticed piles of boxes outside the flat next door. As he turned towards the lifts, he ran into a large man. He barely stopped as he fell into him. Stepping backwards he said, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you there.” As the guy regained his balance, Mitchell noticed the man’s shaved head, jeans with bleach marks with tall black boots with white laces tucked into them. Even though he thought of himself as a tough, well-built guy, he stuttered feeling inadequate and intimidated by this stranger. “I…I…I’m Mitchell,” holding out his hand, “n... n… nice to meet you. So, you’re moving in next door? I… I… always wondered who my new neighbour would be? It’s been vacant for ages.

The man smiled, “I’m John and yes, it was quite a steal really. Apparently last owner had been shacked up with his fiancé for the last few months and they were about to get married. I made an offer a bit less than what they were asking for, but, because he needed to put money down as a deposit on a new house, he had no choice but to accept.”

“Well,” Mitchell replied being polite, “I… I… I’ve got to get my bus.”

“Yes, I can see you’re dressed for an office. As you can probably see I’m not a suit person myself.”

Mitchell laughed nervously. Why was he feeling so unsettled by this guy?

“Look, why don’t you drop by when you get home from work. I always like to get to know my new neighbours.”

On the spur of the moment, Mitchell couldn’t think of an excuse not to accept the invitation, so he said, “why not? Must go!” As he walked away, he could sense the man was staring at him. He shouted, “good luck unpacking” and then lowered his voice a little, “weirdo.”

John couldn’t help admiring his good-looking young neighbour’s physique, and he shook his head hearing Mitchell mumbling that last word. He began to create a mental picture of what Mitchell might look like wearing less formal clothing. Tattoos were common on young men of a similar age these days, so John wondered if he had acquired any ink yet. He was sure to find out later when Mitchell would drop in for a chat and John would explain was his lifestyle was all about. John set about unpacking so that he could prepare for his young neighbour’s visit.

It was around 7:30 in the evening when John heard a knock on the door. He opened it to find Mitchell had changed out of his work suit into a t-shirt and sports shorts. “Come in.” It felt more like an order to Mitchell than a pleasantry.

“You got everything unpacked I see.” Mitchell said trying not to stare at the many pairs of tall lace-up boots all lined up by the door; taking in the various bomber jackets hanging on the coat rack and the skinhead themed pictures and posters on the walls.

John noticed Mitchell’s “That’s nothing lad, I’ve got way more kit in the bedroom.”

Mitchell really didn’t want to know any more about what might be in John’s bedroom, “takes all kinds I guess,” he thought as John handed him a beer. The two men chatted, but as Mitchell sipped away at the beer, “wow”, he thought, “this stuff has a real kick.” He found himself becoming more relaxed and more willing give direct answers to John’s questions; about his job, his personal life, his family and friends. Mitchell was hoping that by dressing as though he was going to the gym and John would bring their chat to an end and let him go on his way. Mitchell was starting to fidget as you do when you’re about to stand up. However, John had different ideas, “stay right there lad, and I’ll get us another beer.” Mitchell suddenly found himself wanting to stay and slumped back into the sofa.

“So wh… wh… what do you for a living?” Mitchell asked with a slight stutter and slur as John handed him another glass of beer.

John smiled, “I’m glad you asked. To put it simply I change people.”

“Change people?” Mitchell asked thoroughly bemused.

“Yes, I change people. I take ordinary people, with very traditional upbringings and boring lives and I change them into whatever takes my fancy.” You, young Mitchell are just the sort of person I look for to mould into something more, hmm, you know ‘out-there’.”

Mitchell had downed half the glass of beer at this point.

John continued, “maybe I’ll slowly take them from the lives they are currently leading and over a few hours, a few days, maybe a few weeks transform them. They might end up as a…”

John could sense Mitchell’s fear about what might happen to him but continued, “The next person I change may end up as filthy mohawked punk, a dirty greaser biker, a Leatherman, a goth, a rubber slave. Who knows? It’s whatever takes my fancy at that moment. After a time, I get bored and need a new challenge, so I sell them on to people into the lifestyle and I move on to my next…”

Mitchell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to challenge what John was saying but he discovered it wouldn’t move. His heart was pounding, his anxiety levels were on the rise – no matter how hard he tried he was unable to form any words.

“Mitchell, I want you to calm down! Mitchell is such as pompous name, so from now on you’re gonna be called Mike. Now, I will carry on. John pulled out an amber charm which he swung from side to side, glowing eerily in front of Mike’ glazed eyes. When I combine this fine-looking stone with a special ingredient I have – oh you know I added a few drops into your beer, my victims become more… open to the changes I want to make to them. More compliant.” Mike’ eyes were affixed on the stone. “That’s right, just follow the stone, from side-to-side, follow the stone, transfixed by its glowing beauty/” John was comfortable in the knowledge that Mike would soon be his personal boy toy. “Isn’t that the most striking, bright and coloured stone you’ve ever seen Mike?”

He tried to open his mouth in one solitary second of defiance, but all he could managed was a barely audible squeak. His independence, his free will, his ability to fight and think freely had departed. There was no resistance left in Mike. His mind was now mush, the lad could only obey and conform.

John pulled Mike to his feet and dragged him to the bathroom. Once there, he placed him in a chair. “Right Mike, I’ve been thinking all-day about the life I want to give you. How do you fancy being my skinhead son? I’ve always wanted someone I could call a son, but being gay it was never going to happen, and I think you will make the perfect skinhead.” John didn’t wait for Mike to reply - he couldn’t; he did however see the confusion and distress in Mike’ eyes. He chuckled to himself.

John walked over to the bathroom cabinet and took out several items: some electric clippers, scissors, a pack of Mach 3 razors and a can of shaving cream. Turning his head to look at the boy, he smiled, “Only real men have hair. So, yours needs to go Mike. I’ll start on your legs and then your chest, all of that lovely blonde hair on your head and not forgetting the parts in-between. I’m going to enjoy getting rid of that wavy blonde hair. When I’m done, you’ll have a perfectly smooth bonehead.” John cut through the lad’s t-shirt revealing a well-defined torso. Staring at the blank canvas and thinking what he would do to it, he couldn’t help but squeeze one of Mike’ nipples. John detected the tiniest of yelps, so he squeezed the other nipple. There was no reaction this time, Mike’ mind was lost. He continued to stare into the  amber jewel that was hanging in front of his face.

John turned on the clippers, starting with the boy’s left leg. Hair started falling in clumps on the floor. Once the left leg was done, he moved on to the right one. Soon John was wiping them down with a cloth, applying a astringent lotion so that the smooth skin shone in the bathroom lights and after a few more applications, regrowth would never be a problem. Then it was onto the chest. Although Mike was only in his early twenties, he’d already got quite a covering of fur, which John’s clippers made quick work of. Mike’s arms were also denuded of hair. John turned off the clippers and, with the same cloth, applied more of the special lotion to the recently clipped areas.

John stood up and smiled. He paused for a second, “this is the last time there will be any hair growing on your head.” He pressed the on switch, and after hearing the familiar ‘clack’ he began ploughing all the way through the boy’s golden locks. In no time at all Mike was motionless sitting in the chair with a zero-grade cut. John picked up the can of shaving cream, squirted it into his hands and rubbed it copiously all over Mike’ head. He took the necessary time to ensure all the fuzz was removed and Mike’ head felt like a cue-ball. In no time at all there was a shiny hairless skinhead son sitting in front of him.

Looking down, John smiled as Mike’ identity lay on the floor in clumps. He looked up at Mike who was sitting perfectly still, with the same glazed eyes and dazed expression on his face, oblivious to the changes being made without his consent. He took the cloth, poured some more lotion into it and rubbed it into his son’s head.

“Stand,” John ordered. Mike complied, happily obeying his skinhead master. The sports shorts were pulled down over the now smooth legs and John stood back as he grabbed the clippers. “Now boy, I need you to get nice ‘n’ hard so I can make sure I get all your hair… down there...” He watched as slowly but surely there was movement in Mike’ groin. John grinned as in no time at all full mast was achieved. “Very nice boy,” John said out loud, “I bet you were popular with the women. Is that six, possibly seven inches? Good and think as well. Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to have much use of it as my son, but it will look amazing with a thick gauge PA, and a Jacob’s ladder.”

‘Clack’, John turned on the clippers and began the removal of the last remaining hairs on Mike’ body. He had to hold himself back as he rubbed the special lotion into the skin around the groin and on the mounds that had once been covered in thick hair. When he was satisfied the boy was as smooth as the day he was born, John left the bathroom to get something from his bedroom. When he returned Mike hadn’t moved, he was still lost in the stone “Now here I have the perfect thing to complete you. Now stay perfectly still.”

Later, John walked into the main room of the flat dressed in full skinhead gear. As he gazed at his newly denuded skinhead son, he felt his manhood straining inside a pair of skin-tight bleachers, which were turned-up and touching the top of a pair of 30-hole red ranger style boots. He was looking lustfully at the 23-year-old standing to attention, still wearing the expression, he had when the amber jewel turned him into the compliant vessel he now was. “It’s time for the next stage in your transformation lad.” With that John walked over to a cupboard an opened the doors.

The cupboard contained piles of skinhead gear from boots to bleachers to braces to bomber jackets. First, he instructed Mike to put on a yellow jockstrap. “You’ll be wearing this non-stop for a few days – it needs to get in nice ‘n’ ripe.” Then he passed the boy a t-shirt, which Mike willingly slipped over his head. “These are your bleachers; they’ve got two zips – front and rear – you’ll soon find out why,” he grinned, “slip them on.” Mike pulled up the tight-fitting jeans that had been liberally splashed with bleach. Mike didn’t take any notice of the fact that they’d been cut off just below the knee and turned up so that they would show the full extent of the boots he would almost always be wearing when he wasn’t in his work gear. John walked across to Mike carrying a pair of red braces which he attached to the bleachers, pulling them right up his bum crack – so much so that Mike let out a little groan. To finish this stage of the transformation, John handed Mike the left boot. It was black with 20 eyelets and partly laced. John talked Mike through how to ladder lace the boot tightly and perfectly. John fitted a padlock at the very top of the boot before handing over the right one. When John was happy with the way that one was laced, he fitted another padlock. “Stand!” Mike stood up. “Turn to look in the mirror, see the Skinhead son I’ve created. This is what you are now a proud skinhead and my skinhead son.

“Now, we can begin your training. Kneel!” Mike complied. “I know your tongue will still be a bit tender, so I’ll be gentle. Open!” John commanded, and with that he slid his cock into Mike’ open mouth. “Move your tongue slowly, showing how much your love the bottom of your skinhead dad’s cock. Make sure you keep your lips tightly closed as I don’t want you to spill anything.”

He sat back as his cock was held between Mike’ virgin lips and soon found himself about to cum as the hard stud, he had introduced to the lad’s tongue work its magic. The combination of it all and the sensitivity soon had John unloading his massive load. “Swallow!” Mike swallowed quickly trying not to “spill’ as he had been instructed. John soon slid from the lips of his new son and quickly zipped up his own bleachers. “Yes,” John thought, studying the boy who, in addition to the tongue piercing also had a stud in each lobe and four more studs all the way up each of his ears. Mike would serve him well as his skinhead son, but first he needed to complete the lad’s transformation. “Right son, let’s go – I need you to see a friend of mine.”

With that John grabbed a green bomber jacket with orange lining and threw it to Mike, “put it on,” he instructed. Mike slipped on what he would get to know as an MA1 and followed John out of the flat. Right away he found it strange walking in heavy soled, tightly laced boots, but he didn’t complain – he couldn’t.

The skinhead and son waited a few minutes at the bus stop before one came along heading in the direction of the city centre. They alighted just before the main shopping area. It was an area that would be unfamiliar to Mitchell, but Mike was oblivious to everything now. He obeyed his skinhead dad, just as any good son would do. The two skinheads walked side by side into a small industrial estate. One of the units had a sign saying, ‘Anaconda Tattoo Studio and Piercing’. John walked ahead of Mike, as they got to the door, John walked in but for a second Mike hesitated. John knew this sometimes happened, especially with all the distractions of the outdoors. He pulled the amber stone out of his pocket and held it in front of Mike. “This way boy,” he ordered. Mike complied; his eyes once again completely transfixed on the glow of the jewel.

Once inside the tattoo studio, John turned to Mike, “stand here son. I need to talk to the owner.” Mike waited as instructed. Despite tattoos being made popular by the countless athletes and celebrities who adorned their bodies with intricate permanent markings, the old Mitchell would have never crossed the threshold foot into a tattoo studio. But here was Mike waiting to submit to whatever his skinhead dad was discussing with the owner.

John came out of the back office followed by a hulk of a man who was wearing tight leather trousers, a black vest, which exposed his muscular arms covered in tattoos, shaved head with long unkempt beard and on his feet were heavy biker boots. “Son this is Griff, he’s going to give you some more piercings and your tattoos. But first, you are to strip down to your jockstrap. When you’ve done that, go over there and sit in the chair. From now on you will do exactly what Griff tells you to do. He’s going to give you your first marks to show the world that you’re a proud skinhead. After you’ve got your first ink, he’s going to give you some more metal. I’m going to leave you for a bit, but I’ll be back to see the finished work.” Turning to Griff, John said, “he’s all yours.”

Griff walked over to Mike wearing only his jockstrap  sitting obediently in the chair. Since John had already removed all the boy’s hair, Griff simply wiped clean the areas to be tattooed and then laid the first outline template on the skin. His machine was then started up, some ink was added, and the needle started to buzz.

He then began applying the needle over the site of the first tattoo, Mike felt a dull pain but didn’t flinch. Once the first tattoo on the boy’s left arm was completed, Griff went on to add the other tattoos as instructed by John. He started work on a full sleeve on Mike’s right arm, which would take four or five visits to complete. Then he added a bulldog to the rear of the lad’s right calf. Finally, two swallows were added to the back of the each of the lad’s hands. Griff whispered into Mike’s ear, “that’s all I’m doing now lad. John has booked half a dozen more sessions, so you’ll be coming back to get your neck, back and chest inked, and I can finish off the full sleeve. Now stay still. There’s a couple more things to do. Griff pushed away his tattoo cart and returned with another.

Griff looked at the docile boy in the chair. I think we will start with the nipples. Griff played, stroked and flicked them for a few moments until they were firm. He then slipped a needle through the left nipple, at which point Mike squealed. He then installed a barbell through the hole left by the needle and screwed a ball onto either end. He repeated the process for the right nipple. “No touching lad.” Griff then turned his attention to the lad’s groin and applied a topical cream to the so-called policeman’s helmet (bell-end to others). “Right, we’ll give that a little while to take effect and, in the meantime, we can sort out your nose piercing. This will hurt, but only for a second.” Griff then picked up a clean needle from his trolley and quickly passed it through the front part of the septum. Mike’s eyes began watering, so he knew the boy was feeling the pain from the intrusion of the needle. Carefully he inserted a ring into the boy’s septum, and then said out loud, “That will take six weeks or so to heal, then John wants it swapped for a bigger ring.” Now, the cream should have dulled your senses on your knob so let’s add the final bit of metal you’re getting today. He wiped the area to be pierced with an antiseptic skin cleanser, put a mark where the piercing was to be made, and begin the piercing process. The most painful moment for Mike in the piercing process was when the piercing needle punctured his urethra. One the needle was through, Griff inserted a circular barbell and spoke again, “don’t worry if you feel a bit of discomfort – a dull, throbbing pain that’s to be expected.

At that moment the door opened, and John walked in carrying a large shopping bag. “He’s all done, just as you instructed John. Don’t forget to leave the starter jewellery in for six weeks – no less, and make sure you use the aftercare solution. After that we can do a bit of stretching to your liking.”

As the days turned into weeks. John had started his son on the path to being a smoker. First, he gave him a gum to chew to introduce nicotine into the body, then he encouraged him to vape. When he felt there was an addiction starting, he told the boy to smoke cigarettes, starting him on five a day, and quickly moving onto ten, then fifteen. Within a couple of weeks, he was getting through a pack a day.

Mike also kept up his weekly visits to Griff, as more of his skin was covered with ink. Over the period, the full sleeve was completed, the Union flag was tattooed on the back of Mike’s next, the word skinhead was tattooed in script of his back and the letters that made up the word skinhead were inked on his knuckles and finally a Celtic cross was inked on the left pectoral. On the most recent visit Griff replaced the rings in his septum and PA with heavier gauges. As per John’s instructions, he also replaced the studs in his ears with rings and the ones in the lobes with spreaders. Mike joined his skinhead dad in a new gym, one that was run by an ex-boxer friend of John’s. John made sure to get Mike in the boxing ring so that his pretty boy face could get roughed up a bit. John wanted his son to look a bit freakier.

Mike didn’t look like the sort of person who would work in an office anymore, so he was signed up to work in the city council’s recycling centre – they were always in need of people to sort through other people’s waste. Five days a week he stood by a conveyor belt dressed in dirty Hi-Viz gear, and safety boots separating glass, metal, plastic, paper and cardboard into different bins.

After work, the boy would return to his skinhead dad’s flat, which was much bigger now that the wall had been knocked through joining what was Mitchell’s flat and John’s flat together. This night was special because as soon as he got home, Mike got out of his stinking workie gear he’d be in since just after dawn and into the skinhead gear his dad left out for him. Tonight, skinhead dad would be introducing his skinhead son to the lads in the pub. Mike dressed in his bleachers, a black Fred Perry, yellow socks and red 20-hole boots. Mike was ready in time for his dad to return home. John walked through the door and saw the perfect skinhead son standing there. “C’mon son. You’re gonna meet your skin bruders.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey! Hope you're having a fab day <3 I came across your lil Daemon/Matt 'crackfic' and it gave me such a giggle...plus also got me thinking about a similar scene with Aemond/Ewan..! Obviously no pressure to write this, but what about a sorta Aemond x reader scene where they're maybe filming a sparring scene? Fight training/flirting vibes? Doesn't have to be anything spicy, maybe just fluffy flirty good times but also realistically aemond x reader sparring = *sexual tension* so lol, take from it what you will. As I say, no pressure at all to write this. I love your blog so much and am such a fan of your work! Wishing you a wonderful weekend xoxo

Choke 'Em

Ewan Mitchell x Actress!Reader (low key Aemond x Reader)

Summary: You and Tom were very much convinced that Ewan is good at everything, so you had a bet that even if you took Ewan surprise in one of your sparring takes, he could 100% overpower you. Things don't necessarily go as planned.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: fem!reader, drama instigator!tom glynn-carney, puppy!ewan, idk how to choreograph action 😞, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: YES IN A MILLLION LANGUAGEs, i watched like this one of 3 actors from the last kingdom saying they think ewan is good at everything or something along the lines, and then theres this gif set of tom glynn-carney saying that he was going to bite ewan and ewan was basically "aw yeah!" and ASFHLASHFHASFHFHA PUPPY im love him, anyway, i had those stuff in mind when i wrote this i hope you like it my love floofdeloop. i did an express pass on your req cos i have been writing rpfs lol also this gif T_T HES SO ??????????? HOT ????? HELP ME WHY DO I THINK THIS OF HIM ???? HWELP? Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda

"No!" I exclaim, shoving Tom from the floor we were sat on. He nearly chokes on his salad as he falls to his side and laughs. His hand darts out to keep him upright, his laughter dies down when he turns to me.

I continue, "I can't attack him outside of the choreography we practiced!"

"I'm not telling you to do that!" Tom says, raising his voice in amusement, "I'm saying maybe just-" he breathes out through his nose, "go a bit harder than normal? Or-or add a few licks to-"

"Tom," I deadpan.

"Oh, please," he blows a raspberry, "against him? You're dead meat."

"He's not immune to accidents, lame brain," I take the final bites of my sandwich.

"All I'm saying is, Ewan is probably, like, secretly a swordsman."

"Dude," I point, "there's nothing secret about that."

I look out to the set, watching as Ewan, who quickly finished his lunch to rebuff on our choreography, twist the prop sword in his hands with much ease and mastery.

I chew slowly, "maybe I could tell him I'm doing extra attacks beforehand."

Tom, who stuffed some salad into his face as he too watched Ewan from afar, turns to me, perking up in intrigue. He speaks with a mouthful quite excitedly, "yes, yes, yeth, weth!"

I give him a look then purse my lips as I shove a tissue to his mouth

When we got to filming the dialogue part of our scene, we already set a pretty high bar for our consequential fight sequence, and so when I offered the idea of adding an extra few jabs in my sword fighting, not just to Ewan, but to our fight choreographer and director, they were all on board with it.

"I was thinking I could," I start, raising my imaginary weapon up, pointing at Ewan, "try to jab at you by your throat, then," I slowly step forward, twirling the way we did in practice, "once you evade me, I could elbow you," I bring my arm by his chest and slowly push him back, "and shove you against the wall."

Ewan, following my train of thought and movements, steps back and leans back on the wall. He nods, looking down at me with a soft smile, "I like it," he turns to the choreographer, "I think it adds to their tension."

I turn to our choreographer and director, nodding, "then we could add the dialogue we scraped off cause there was no room for it."

The director claps his hands, "I love it," he motions to us, "then you can grab her, and try to make her confess."

I turn to Ewan, leaning back into him a bit so that he could bring his arms around me. I turn front then look down at his arms that were coming around me. I pull him tightly around me like a jacket.

Ewan has no choice but to lean into me; my back was against his chest and I could hear his breathing. He was a welcome presence in all honesty. Quickly, I relax against him and he seemingly does the same against me.

"Well obviously not like that," the director calls, "you look like a married couple if you do that."

We break into a laugh. I lean against him, "it's not too late to change the script. She and Aemond could away together."

Ewan hums, as though he was in character, "I think he would like that."

I snort, turning to Ewan and his eyepatch, "I would like that."

Ewan's eye darts down to me quickly. He purses his lips, holding back a chuckle. I pull away from him when I see the pink in his skin, laughing a bit louder.

"Shall we give it a go?" the director asks.

One nod later, and were back in our marks, ready to tryout our added choreo.

"You lied to me," I heave, "you told me you would release my father if I gave you the information you needed.

Aemond walks over to me, hands behind his back, "I said I would think about releasing your father."

My expression drops, my nostrils flare, "liar."

He hums.

"Craven!"

He chuckles.

"MONSTER!" I lunge towards him and the next second, Aemond has his sword unsheathed. We go against each other, weapon against weapon, then he overpowers me, sending me reeling back. I push against the crates behind me, as the prince calls out, "let me offer you another deal you surely cannot refuse."

I fume, groaning, "I think we're past deals, oh prince."

"Oh, but I-"

Aemond's eye widens as I press forward a few lines too early. Like clockwork, I attack him just like we practiced earlier, except, he was clearly taken off guard and reacts a bit too late.

Once I have him pressed against he wall, he looks down at me, shocked, heaving.

He's forgotten his line.

I make up for his silence, "perhaps you are prettier up close."

"CUT!"

I pull away from Ewan, turning to him, dropping my prop. I reach out to his cheeks, giving him a worried look, "are you okay? I didn't injure you, did I?"

"I-" his hands come up to my wrists, "no, no," he chuckles under his breath, "I was just a bit floored by how fearsome my lady is."

My face contorts into a smile, "my lady, am I?"

"I-" he opens his mouth, "well, I mean... yes."

We both break into a chuckle. It seems we both had blood rising up our necks now.

"That was amazing!" the director calls, walking up to us, making us pull away, "I like these turn of events more than what we had planned."

"What if they have more contact?" Ewan pipes up, coming in front of me, "in this part, instead of being turned back," he looks at me intently, "you can lift your sword to my neck then choke me."

I gasp when he takes my hand and places it by the base of his throat. It was quite softly spoken, but it seems it was not soft enough, "damn, that's kinky."

Ewan's jaw slacks.

I break into a chuckle, playing it off, just as the director laughs, proceeding to say, "I like it! The more sexual tension the better." He turns to me, "choke him real good."

Ewan begins to stutter. My own jaw slacks as I feel my face heat up. I awkwardly nod and salute, "will do."

[watchtowerindistress]

for the love of ... bob? - jake seresin x reader (2/2)

Summary: Being Jake's (best) friend - sorry, Javy - proved to have its ups and downs but there was something about having him in your corner you couldn't resist. Jake and you just clicked on a deeper level. That's why you didn't get it when the Southern boy was acting so weird.

Word count: 6.9k

Warnings: Jealous! + Soft!Jake, fluff, language, kinda angsty, kinda mean!Jake

Author’s note: I haven't seen Anyone but You (I just get the icky when I see two blondes on screen), so I took Glen's sentiment that he's not the best singer 🤷🏻‍♀️ Is it obvious yet that I really like Lewis/Bob? 😏 Who knew that I would write a Jake story and have Bob's name mentioned soooooo many times to get Jake to freak out? This chapter made me realize ... maybe I'm not good with painting a scene when I feel more comfortable just writing the banter/dialogue because at times I'm just more "clinical" when it comes to narration and I just want to get to the point. 😅

No words can describe how much everyone's reactions moved me. Especially how so many people reblogged this fic. Keep on doing what you're doing, guys! 😘

Chapter Summary: Y/N is an absolute mastermind, but Natasha is one too. Bob is an absolute sweetheart (nothing new to see here).

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @blackmagicwoman @silenthappyplace @mrsevans90 @dempy @arcxnxm @hookslove1592 @djs8891

Read me on AO3 | Series masterlist

~Jake POV~

“Special delivery for Floyd.”

Maverick showed up in the break room. And, without further ado, dropped a Tupperware container on the table where Bob was sitting. Bob looked up curiously. “Huh, okay…”

Jake was sitting with the rest of the Dagger Squad on base, when his mouth hovered over his sandwich, about to take a bite.

“Y/N dropped it off at Penny’s,” Captain Mitchell explained.

At the mention of your name, Jake frowned before turning his head to inspect what Maverick just delivered.

“Oh, Bob is climbing the racks of popular guys around here,” Natasha teased. “Let me see.” She reached for the piece of paper taped on the cover.

Despite Bob’s efforts to stop her, Natasha’s actions were too swift. He observed Jake with uncertainty.

Natasha narrated the post-it, “Just a small piece of Montana so you can feel more at home, Bob. Only meant for sharing when the others have done something nice for you,” she paused. “Woah, this can be tough for some people. P.S. I’ll be your Huckleberry. Y/N. That’s cute. And then there’s some sort of smiley face.”

Bob snorted before revealing the insides of the Tupperware. The smell of dessert reached their nostrils. It left a speechless Bob behind. He smiled fondly. “Oh, … it’s Huckleberry Buckle.”

The rest of the crew groaned in delight.

“Bob, my friend,” Bradley leaned down, to drape his arm over his shoulder, “you do know that I held the door open for you this morning.”

Bob chuckled. “Just dig in, y’all. If you want some, just grab a plate and a fork.”

This was the signal for most of the Dagger Squad to spring into action.

“Don’t be animals. One for plates and one for forks,” Javy reminded them.

With sentimental eyes, Jake took another glance at the freshly baked dessert. He cleared his throat. “That’s Y/N for you. Baking stuff is Y/N’s love language,” he explained before watching Bob out of the corner of his eye while everyone dug in.

Bob took his ringing phone from out of his pocket. “Hey, yes, I—we just got it. You just made everyone’s day, I think.”

The Dagger Squad echoed with their mouths full, “We love you, Y/N! Love—love you!”

Jake intensely watched Bob while he munched on the pastry, desperately wanting to know what you two were talking about.

“You want me to—really? Did you mention that to-” Bob’s gaze met Jake’s. Once he already found him already staring at him, Bob meekly averted his eyes. “Um, yeah, sure. Hangman, it’s for you,” he said, giving him the phone.

Jake put a smile on his face when he spoke with a gravelly voice. “Hello, stranger.”

He heard you on the other end exhale. “Has anyone ever told you that you got a really sultry voice?”

Jake inhaled deeply and instantly regretted it. Choking on a crumb, Jake coughed to clear his throat. He felt his skin heat up, either your words or the chocking hazard was getting to him. “Uhm, okay?” He phrased as a question. “Not under these circumstances, no.” For good measure, he took a huge gulp of water.

“Have you asked them yet? You know, the karaoke thing?”

“No?”

Jake could basically feel you vibrating through the phone.

“Well, are you gonna? Time is of the essence.”

“Why are you so adamant to get it done this quickly?” He asked, taking another bite.

You stammered, “I need to—I just do. Aren’t we best friends?”

Jake laughed at your faltering attempt to get your way. “Of course, we are.”

“Then it’s your responsibility to make me get to know your colleagues, no questions asked. Maybe I could make you look good, huh?” Now your insistence for this event kinda made more sense.

He exhaled, “Guys, want to do karaoke night with Y/N?”

The Dagger Squad made whoops of agreement.

“You heard that? You really know how to work the crowd, don’t you?”

“What can I say? I have to make use of my strengths.”

Jake shook his head. “I can tell.”

“Now I know why we never did karaoke together,” Natasha mused before knocking back a drink of tequila.

“What?” Jake was still smiling widely when he stepped off stage.

“That was horrendous to watch. And I’m not even talking about what we were just forced to listen to.”

He rolled his eyes at her dig. “Come on, you’re just being mean. Y/N, hey, tell them.” Jake widened his arms, expecting you to snuggle up to his chest.

As if reading his mind, you stepped into his arms. Almost like you were keeping him in suspense, you licked your lips and patted his chest consolingly. “You looked really handsome up there on stage.”

“See?” Jake looked around to challenge his witnesses before realization hit him. He followed you as you stepped away from him. “Wait, what?”

Any disappointed feelings evaporated within him when Jake sat next to you on the couch which oversaw the karaoke stage and spoke softly, “You having fun?”

You leaned against his side, feeling content with just doing your familiar tradition. “You know I do. Thanks for being such a good sport about this.”

“You mean for me being such a horrible singer?”

“You’re tolerable,” you said soothingly and stroked the back of his neck.

“Gee, thanks.”

You nudged your head against his shoulder. “Kidding. You have a great shower voice.”

With a frowning face, Jake stared at you.

You paused in thought. “That sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“Already forgotten.”

“You’re such a sweetheart.” You briefly leaned your head back into the crook of his neck.

The expression which bordered between mischief and intimacy on Jake’s face was only meant for you to see. “Careful, darlin’. With words like that, you’re starting to make all the girls here jealous.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Natasha interjected, jolting you from your thoughts. “Don’t know if you guys are disgusting or just too adorable together.”

You chuckled, hiding your face behind your hair.

Jake leaned his arm against the back of the couch you were sitting on and said with a teasing voice, “Oh, Phoenix, is there something you want to tell?”

A mysterious smile lingered on Natasha’s lips. “I don’t know. Is there something you want to tell?”

Jake remained silent when he narrowed his eyes. “Nope.”

“Pity,” Natasha retorted.

“This tension is getting way too thick for me.” You decided and braced yourself to stand up. “Bob’s song choice is calling my name.”

At the mention of his name, Jake turned his head in an almost comical way. “Wait, Bob?”

You turned halfway around. “Definitely. I think I’m feeling ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’, you know?”

Natasha gave her vote of confidence. “Don’t let Bob fool you. He’s great. As long as you don’t get into a duet with Rooster.” Her eyes widened at that specific scenario. “I’m serious. I can’t take one more ‘Great Balls of Fire’ today.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Jake stood up, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “We’re singing together, right?”

“Of course we are, buddy. It’s tradition,” you said, patting his cheek before leaving again.

Jake sat back down with a sigh, mouthing, “Buddy?” to himself.

“You must have really scared her off with your karaoke performance, … buddy,” Natasha teased next to him.

“You know what?” Jake brooded over his next retort. “Why don’t you have fun with your next Britney song, huh?”

“Thanks. If I play my cards right, I could convince Y/N to join me. I bet she likes Toxic, huh?”

“Everyone does.” Knowing that you wouldn’t mind that one bit.

~ Jake POV ~

“Another plane, another train. Another bottle in the brain. Another girl, another fight. Another drive all night,” You rapped without having care in the world while you mimicked guitar sounds. With your arm slung over his shoulder, Jake carried your body inside.

“You know, I got neighbors, right? I don’t know if they’d appreciate you hollering to the Beastie Boys.”

As if the thought just hit you, you rasped, “I could do it while whisper-yelling. You know, show them some taste.”

Jake shook his head at your antics. “You and your 90’s songs.”

“That was actually late 80’s.”

Jake only chuckled at your musical knowledge shining through. “Someone’s not drunk, huh? Do I need to carry you to bed?”

“Oh, Mr. Lieutenant Seresin-” You leaned back with a smirk, inspecting Jake thoroughly. That gaze alone, and that rank drop, sent a surprising shiver down his spine.

-“You know, I’m not that kinda girl.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Only you would try to flirt in your affectionate state.”

“I’m always flirting with you.”

That reminder unsettled Jake, especially since that sort of affection seemed unusual to other people. For some reason, he didn’t want to lose that. Jake swallowed, frowning. “Yeah, that … that’s what we do. We’re just really, uh…”

“Really secure in our friendship,” you added, holding onto his arms.

His eyes lit up, feeling grateful for your words and warm from your touch. “Exactly. We are.”

You smirked. “How secure do you feel with Javy?”

“Hey, that’s very different. I’m very comfortable with ‘touching guys’, but we’re not in the flirty stage.”

You pursed your lips, imagining that specific scenario. “So, you’re saying you could get there with him one day.”

He didn’t have to ponder about that. “Nope. There’s never been the need for that.”

“Oh, you’re saying I’m special, sweetheart?” Your hold shifted into a tight hug.

“Don’t fish for compliments. You know you are,” Jake whispered quietly, like he was sharing something only for you to know.

“Oh, that’s nice,” you muttered. Snuggling deeper into his strong shoulders while enjoying his warmth. “Damn, your shoulders are really something else, huh? Did I already say that?”

Jake’s shoulders shook with laughter. “It’s fine.”

Like a gentle and exploring piano player, your fingers danced around his shoulder. “You must get them compliments all the time from everyone else.”

“I don’t care about everyone else,” Jake paused.

“Sorry for objectifying you. You’re a real nice guy.”

“First, I don’t mind you objectifying me. Second, don’t you dare call me nice.”

“Oh, you’re just a sweetheart and I don’t get why you don’t let others see that.” Jake felt his body vibrate when you nestled deeper into his neck. Maybe it was easier for Jake to admit stuff if he didn’t have to look at you.

That thought process was eviscerated when you leaned back to stare into his eyes. You stroked his cheeks with deep consideration. “You know, sometimes I keep thinking you deserve so much more than the small scraps of brief flings you’re setting for yourself.”

Almost allured, Jake leaned his face into your palm. Before he caught himself with that infuriating smile. “Oh, you’re thinking about me having sex. Is there something you want to tell me?”

He could feel your disappointment deeply in his core when you sighed heavily. “Jake, you really know how to kill the mood.”

Jake smiled proudly. “Thanks. I really worked hard on that skill.”

With wide eyes, your whole stance changed. “I changed my mind. Can you take me to bed, in a purely platonic way?”

“Only because you asked nicely.”

“Oh, proof that Jake Seresin is secretly a gentleman.” As soon as he offered his smile, you squeezed his dimples, like he was a little kid.

Jake shook his head. “Okay, I think it’s time for bed.”

“And the great Hangman takes aim. Will he be able to defeat the local competition or forfeit his winning streak?”

Jake sighed at hearing Rooster commenting with high anticipation on their pool game at their usual hangout. His arm, holding the cue, hesitated on the pool table. “Rooster, if I have to listen to your droning voice any longer-”

Rooster leaned over the cushion, whispering teasingly, “Why? Am I getting inside your head?”

Jake scoffed at the insinuation. “You think you can get to me with mind games? I invented those.” He pulled his arm back. The moment he saw you enter, a fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he saw you laugh with Natasha and -

-pat Bob’s arm?

Jake pushed the cue forward. And watched in apprehension as it slipped away from the ball. “Fuck me,” he grumbled. He couldn’t look away from the unfolding car accident of his play as the ball slithered frustratingly to the middle of the table.

Rooster snorts morphed into boisterous laughter. “Outstanding performance. At least something is getting to you. Are you sure you’re as good as you claim to be?”

Jake whipped his head around. “You know, why don’t you play one of your piano sessions?”

“That would be kind of hard to do since-” Rooster leaned forward with his cue stick. “-you know, I’m beating you.”

Jake cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt his eyes wander surreptitiously to the pair sitting at the bar. Jake made grumbling noises when Penny covered his view as his fingers tightened around the cue stick.

“Ace, you need a special invitation or are you considering to surrender already?” Jake heard the annoying voice behind him. It took everything inside him to not give up and wander where he really wanted to go.

“You’re a hilarious bird.”

Jake lined up his shot.

~ Y/N POV ~

“Okay, what did I miss?”

When you turned your head, Jake sauntered next to you. It took you another glance until you noticed something amiss. “Woah, what happened? You look really hot,” you said, inspecting Jake’s forehead with the back of your hand.

Jake smirked. “Well, thank you. I try my best.”

You rolled your eyes at Jake’s antics to view everything as a compliment. “No, you dork. I mean, you’re like really sweaty. Did you overdo it with the testosterone match?”

“I think I did it just right,” Jake sputtered.

“Who won?”

His green eyes twinkled at the spoken challenge, making your heart flutter. “Who do you think?”

It took you less than a few seconds to look towards Bradley, who swaggered behind Jake. “Who won?”

Jake opened his mouth to gasp at your cheekiness not to trust his word. “I won! What are you asking him for?”

“Barely,” Bradley mouthed, making you giggle. “Totally. I was absolutely … destroyed.” His eyes turned serious when Jake’s gaze found his. “I need some beer to recharge,” he said, moving away.

With a conspiring demeanor, Natasha leaned forward to whisper into your ears. “Oh please, let me tell him.”

Jake’s head moved in her direction. “Oh, you’re here too. Tell me what?”

She placed her hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking your body with her utter enjoyment. “Someone’s gotten herself a date,” Natasha trilled with a sing-song voice.

The glower on Jake’s face sent shivers through your body. You felt uncertain at seeing his reaction. You tried to tell yourself that Jake was just being an overprotective friend. His gaze alternated between yours and Natasha’s before it finally landed on Bob’s.

A wide-eyed Bob swallowed his cup of water. “Not me. I mean, not that Y/N isn’t … you know-” You felt touched that Bob tried to rectify his statement by not wanting to hurt your feelings when he truly looked at you. “You’re really pretty. A guy would be lucky to have you.”

You inwardly gushed at Bob’s gentlemanly ways and felt utterly compelled to give him a hug. Instead, you held him by the shoulder. “Oh Bob, you’re such a sweetheart. You just earned yourself a dance. Pick a song.” With an energetic jump, you moved from your stool and went towards the jukebox.

“I didn’t want to make things weird for the team,” Bob whispered with wide eyes.

There was something akin to respect shining in Jake’s eyes when he nodded once before staring calmly at Natasha. He tried really hard not to reveal his candid emotions on his face. Jake promised to himself, he wouldn’t clench his jaw or cross his arms. He felt like a twitching fool when he was about to cross his arms. Instead, he was forced to let his arms glide downwards before he stroked his abdominal muscles. In the end, he awkwardly hid his hands in the back pockets of his pants.

Natasha smiled mysteriously. “Don’t worry, I’m a great matchmaker. She’s in the safest hands.”

“Phoenix,” Jake started, before he inwardly winced. He crossed his arms and spoke slowly, “what are you doing?”

She shrugged. “Just listening. Y/N mentioned something when we were talking.”

He couldn’t help tilting his head in intrigue. “What exactly?”

“That’s for me to know and you to butt out.” Natasha’s expression softened when she tried to soften the blow. “All in good time. I have a plan. It’s gonna sound weird, but you seem like someone who likes having their best friend close. This is me ensuring to make San Diego as appealing as possible to her. I’m just saying—if she wants to stay,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“By giving her a date? You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Best-case scenario: She’s gonna have the time of her life with the potential to meet the love of her life while getting a meal out of the date.” Natasha lifted the palms of her hands like a scale to weigh the chances. “Worst case: death by boredom. And next thing you know, Y/N is gonna seek comfort from her best friend after realizing that all naval aviators are douchebags.”

Jake groaned at the thought. “Ugh, great. It’s a damn naval aviator?”

She tilted her head in fascination. “Short question: does she have a thing for aviators? There was a fangirl moment when I mentioned Mav.”

He winced before murmuring, “It’s a statistics thing. Don’t mention Iceman around her.”

Natasha nodded. “Noted.”

“You’re way too involved in this.” Jake pressed his lips together, hoping to see her ultimate endgame. “What’s in it for you?”

“Not everything’s an agenda.” Natasha brushed by him, moving away.

Jake narrowed his eyes with deep suspicion. “And that’s not really an answer.”

~ Y/N POV ~

You could feel your heart beating nervously in your chest. Even your stomach was being all fluttery when you looked into the bathroom mirror while putting mascara on your eyelashes. You heard shuffling behind you before you met green eyes in the reflection.

Your voice echoed in the bathroom. “Jake, you’re hovering like a mother hen.” You didn’t bother turning around since you needed to focus on the task at hand, in order not to go crazy with anxiety. His rare controlling persona wasn’t helping matters.

Jake leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. “I’m just curious, that’s all. You’ve never met the guy. Assuming it’s a man, I don’t want to presume.” He waved his arms around. “I wouldn’t put it past Phoenix to put you on a blind date with a girl.”

You pursed your lips while mentioning casually, “Nat did mention that most of the aviators on the force were duds.”

Jake grimaced. “Going to ignore that,” he mumbled under his breath.

You wiped some mascara remnants from your eyelid. “Your sex not being dating material or me hypothetically dating the same team?”

Jake shook his head, clearing his throat. “So, where are you two lovebirds meeting tonight? Romantic restaurant, picnic by the waterfront?”

The annoyed growl leaving your mouth surprised you. Normally, you weren’t an irrational person who was prone for aggravation. His hovering presence distracted you in an inefficient way. “Seresin, you’re starting to cramp me in this bathroom.” You puzzled yourself more than him when you shoved him through the door. “All answers will be given in the living room after I had some breathing room.”

As soon as the door was closed, it felt like you could breathe again. You exhaled a heavy breath. “Oh my God,” you whispered.

“I heard that!” Jake protested behind the door.

“Good!”

Jake released the breath he was holding. He was sitting on the couch, drumming his fingers on his thigh. He mindlessly watched ‘The Real Housewives of New Jersey’ on his TV, needing something to run in the background while he was waiting for you to come out. Every time he heard noises coming from the bathroom, Jake craned his head, unable to tamp down his curiosity.

The moment the door closed again, he felt nervous energy coming off of him. And he didn’t truly understand why. Jake heard your shuffling feet in the distance before you finally came out. It felt like the breath had been knocked out of his body.

There was something about a Y/N in a sundress and ballet flats that made him feel very weird. You swung around to show off the full effect of your date attire.

“So, what’s the verdict? Does it meet the expectations of Jake Seresin at least?”

“Um-” Jake cleared his throat before he averted his gaze. “-it looks good.”

“Oh, if the dress looks good… Lucky me, huh?”

“Whoever you’re meeting tonight, they’re the lucky ones.”

“Oh.” You rushed forward, hugging Jake sideways in gratitude. “I like when sweet and charming Jake comes out. He’s such a gentleman.”

“I’m going to assert plausible deniability, in case you decide to reveal my secrets.” Jake shared a small smile with you, reminding himself to at least appear like he was fine with the thought of you going out with another naval aviator.

“I wouldn’t. Not for a good trade at least.”

Jake pointed at you as a reminder. “No apple pie.”

You threw your head back, groaning loudly. “How about a strudel?”

“Not even that.”

“Fine.” She leaned back against the couch before whispering quietly, – like you had to remind yourself - “I need to get going.”

He looked up. “You want me to drive you?”

“That’d be weird, wouldn’t it?”

Jake had to keep trying. “To pick you up then.”

A small part of him would remember fondly how he made you chuckle. “Even weirder flex. I’ll be fine.”

The goodbye kiss on his cheek made him sigh before he nodded with a resolved air. “Text me when you need a getaway car.”

You laughed airily. “Alright.”

It was an hour later when he was already lying in bed and mindlessly scrolling through social media on his phone when he received a text from you.

Don’t need a getaway car.

Nodding dazedly to himself, Jake whispered, “That’s just … great.”

Jake was proving to be an utterly, frustrating man. It had been fifteen minutes since you said good morning that Jake had uttered a word. Only the sound of awkward breakfast crunching could be heard.

You sighed when you saw Jake eye you inscrutably again. He truly thought he was being covert. “Okay, when are we going to break the tension?”

“What tension? There’s no tension.” Jake kept munching on his cornflakes. Like he didn’t have a care in the world. Granted, Jake was the kind to keep on eating food, even when he wasn’t feeling well. “It’s a wonderful morning. I’m having breakfast.” Jake scarfed down a mouthful. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.” To prove his point, he offered a close-lipped smile.

You narrowed your eyes in speculation. Talking gibberish was very unlike him. “You want to know how last night went.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“You don’t want to know,” you repeated slowly and in strong incredulity.

“Yep, no interest.” Jake paused in thought. “Unless you want to talk about your date.”

“I’m not going to force you into a conversation if you couldn’t care less.”

“I do care,” Jake rushed with his reply before his voice turned casual again. “I mean a meager amount.”

“Is this like a guy thing?” You sniffed, taking on a low manly voice for effect. “I don’t mind talking about my latest conquest but I’d rather die than talk about it in a meaningful way.”

“First, I hope that wasn’t an impression of me.”

Your face took on a blank expression before you crossed your arms. Waiting for Jake to continue with his list.

“Second, I don’t mind talking about your … dates, as long as it’s not, you know-” He winced. “-sexual.”

“Jesus, that was a first date. And besides, I don’t know if that’s sexist or something else, that you’re allowed to talk about that stuff, but not me?”

“I don’t know why we’re going the feminist route, but with you it’s just different,” he mumbled before shrugging.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” Jake responded fervently. “And none of these guys deserve you.” His voice turned quiet, becoming serious all of a sudden. “You deserve someone better.”

Disappointment filled your body at Jake’s perspective. Recounting all the times in your head when you would tell him how he deserved someone who could challenge him, yet appreciate the things about him which made him such a decent and caring guy. It was a pity that Jake would rather wallow in his self-loathing, while pretending to be the most egotistical guy that ever existed than to be vulnerable for once.

Your shoulders deflated when you realized that maybe he would never be ready to have a meaningful relationship—or any relationship at all that progressed over the 3-day mark—and you swore that a small part of you died right there on the kitchen floor. Feeling more hopeless than ever.

Before you could fully understand the reason why this bothered you so much, Jake’s concerned expression pulled you out of the deepest parts of yourself.

“What? What’d I say?”

You shook your head. Never feeling this gloomy before. “You know, for someone who claims to be so smart, you’re just so dang stupid.” Every single word felt like it was torn painfully from between your lips.

“What?”

You just felt too tired to make Jake understand. It felt easier to just turn your body away. Despite how much you hated appearing this careless towards him. “I got to go. I’ll see you later, Jake.”

~ Jake POV ~

“Well, someone’s in a bad mood.” Natasha teased him. Despite them having to endure the same punishment by being forced to do push-ups next to each other, Natasha still seemed to be in a formidable mood.

Jake turned his head. Not caring particularly that he sent her a dark glower.

“Don’t hang your head, Hangman. I doubt you could’ve evaded Mav’s hit on your best day.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled. Inwardly, he winced. His ma would have his hide if she heard him talking like that to anyone.

“What? No comeback? I wonder what else could be bothering you,” she mused to herself.

Natasha didn’t fool him one bit. Jake wondered if she had it out for him and that was why she focused so hard on Y/N.

“What do you think, Bob?” She decided to thrust the knife even deeper.

Even at the mention of his name, Jake swore his forehead garnered the first droplets of sweat.

Bob chose to focus on his push-ups before grunting, “I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“You’re way too nice.”

Jake clenched his jaw. “Yes, someone’s a real goody two-shoes.”

Bob turned his head, looking bewildered. “What did I do?”

“Oh, just sweet and perfect Bob who can do nothing wrong.”

Heavy footsteps came closer. “Why do I hear chattering and see no push-ups over here?” Maverick’s voice came over their heads.

“Understood, Sir,” Bob automatically replied.

Jake kept his mouth closed. As much as it pained him.

After the completion of their punishment and he had taken a shower, Jake hurried after Natasha in the rec room. “I need to talk to you.”

Natasha tilted her head. “I thought we already did.”

“Who was the date?”

She exhaled in exasperation, glaring at him. “You’re so predictable, Hangman,” she said, turning around to leave.

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry-”

Natasha stopped in her tracks. She swivelled her head, frowning. “An apology? You just bought yourself two minutes of my time. Go on.”

“Was it Bob?”

Natasha breathed out slowly, pausing in thought. “…You have a weird fixation on Bob. I wonder why that is.”

Jake cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I don’t-”

“Just kidding. I know why that is. And no. I asked, but he refused.” She shook her head, revealing that this bothered her more than she wanted to admit. “Honorable little fucker,” Natasha grumbled. She chose to clarify instead. “He wouldn’t have minded to date Y/N, but, you know- Didn’t he tell you this already?”

Bob did mention that. But Jake couldn’t help thinking that he might have changed his mind. He averted his gaze, feeling slightly depraved that he considered Floyd doing that. “Maybe. But still.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “What does it matter who the lucky fella was? What are you gonna do? Scare the hell out of them?”

It was indeed bad when someone like Phoenix could predict his future plans. “If it’s someone who doesn’t deserve her, then yes.”

She hummed. “If you know her so well, then tell me, what kind of person do you think Y/N deserves?”

Jake spread his arms. It felt strange how a list of things ran through his head and how they just rolled off his tongue. “Someone nice. Someone who just gets her and adores her little quirks. Just a gentleman.” He counted the amount of traits with his fingers. “Funny, maybe a bit sensitive or vulnerable. Good-looking, but that’s not as high up on her list as the inner qualities.”

Natasha remained quiet. Her brown eyes were staring at him with a profound expression. “Very insightful. Interesting qualities you just listed off. Anyone you know that could fulfil those strengths?”

At the mere mention, he felt like he was put in the spotlight. Either she wanted him to say ‘Bob’ – since those characteristics could cover him easily—or maybe utter his own name. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he wanted to be with you. And wanted to be a part of you.

Jake carefully glanced at Natasha. Not trusting her look of consideration, he narrowed his eyes. He spoke slowly. “I’m not sure.”

“Pity. I could be persuaded into making something happen, if you know what I mean.”

Jake licked his lips, knowing exactly what she was trying to get him to admit. He pressed his lips together.

“But … you would actually need to say the words.” She waited patiently before sighing. “My patience knows its limits though. So, if you got nothing to say, then…” Natasha pointed behind her to threaten her departure. She nodded to herself once before saying, “Okay.” And walked towards the exit.

Jake opened his mouth, as he watched her walk away. He didn’t understand where his courage was coming from when the words left his mouth. “Natasha, would you squeeze me in as Y/N’s date?” He knew how he’d usually call her ‘Phoenix’ or in very rare instances ‘Nat’ so he figured that she caught him in a vulnerable mood for a change.

She dramatically turned around and pursed her lips. “Depends. Will you also apologize to Bob for being an absolute dick?” She paused. “Again?”

Jake sighed. “Listen, I don’t-”

“It’s called being a decent human being. It’s the least you could do. Not to mention-” Natasha tapped her chin mockingly. “-I can’t imagine how Y/N would feel if she found out that someone was being this rude to sweet Bob. I mean, what do you think? How would she feel about that?”

He revealed a tight smile at the slight warning. There was no need to hit below the belt. He would have done it anyway if Natasha said he was being a jerk. “Fine, I got your point. I’ll apologize,” he grunted lowly.

She smiled cheerily. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You felt bad about ignoring Jake, you thought, while you waited in the midst of the amusement park of Belmont Park. Ever since this morning, things had been weird between you. Or Jake was just being his stubborn and obstinate self.

You had been baffled since Natasha sent you a message that the date location had changed. The more you looked around, you realized that you would’ve loved to spend time with Jake at this place. You exhaled with disappointment. Jake would absolutely force you on the roller-coaster, but then feel bad once your stomach was upset by buying you a funnel cake.

Deciding that your bond with Jake was far too important than to leave everything hanging like that, you yearned to clear the air. Pulling out your phone, you scrolled through your contacts until your thumb pressed against the name.

The sound of a cell ringing in the distance made you turn your body in uncertainty. You frowned once you saw Jake advancing with hesitation, waving an arm in greeting.

“Hey, you.”

You hung up your phone, trying to grasp his presence. “What are you doing here? Did you want to ride the Giant Dipper, or something?”

Jake smiled awkwardly. “I wouldn’t actually mind that. Depends if my best friend would be up for it too?” You tried to prepare yourself against his puppy dog eyes as he stepped closer. The movement made you take notice of his suave appearance. You swore you could feel your knees weakening when you saw him wearing his jeans and a pressed white dress shirt.

Jake rubbed his hands against the fabric of his pants.

Not wanting to hurt him, you spoke slowly. “That’s hard to say. I’m kind of on a date. Just waiting, I guess.”

“Yeah, I know. Natasha told me.”

You felt befuddled by his explanation. “Why … would she do that?”

“I asked her to?” Jake phrased the statement into a cautious question.

You pursed your lips as you tried to understand why she would do that in the first place. “Did you bribe her?”

Jake blushed at a memory when he explained with a gravelly voice, “I think I paid her off by giving her the satisfaction in seeing me grovel.”

“How did that look like?” You said, feeling fascinated by the concept of a begging Jake. Even that word didn’t seem to fit him.

“You don’t want to know, trust me.” Jake grew silent before something akin to hope lit up his eyes. “Why did you want to call me?”

You cleared your throat. “Why are you here?”

Teasingly, Jake pointed at you. “I asked you first.”

You sighed. “I wanted to clear the air.” Still, you were not above getting one small dig in. “Unlike some people, I wanted to be the grown-up one here.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Now someone’s just being cheeky.” He exhaled, willing to admit any wrongdoings. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

“Why were you?” You spoke softly. Just because he was your close friend didn’t mean that Jake would get special treatment.

Jake stepped closer until you were only a foot apart. “Because I have a talent for it. Because it’s easier to just pretend. Because of you going out … with a naval aviator just pissed me off. Because I-” He breathed in, like he was preparing for you to hit him. “-I really, really like you.”

You blushed, not yet trusting if he meant it or if this was just some strange prank he wanted to pull off. “You like me,” you repeated, unable not to tease him just a little bit. “And here I thought most of the time I was your annoying best friend.”

“I think you’re confusing yourself with Javy.”

You cocked your head playfully. “Oh? Do you really, really like him too?”

He pursed his lips, like he needed to entertain that thought first. “He’s just alright, I guess. I mean, I more than like you. It’s like obnoxious.”

Wow, and here you thought, Jake could prove to be an adult for once. So, unless he decided to brandish a real love confession that didn’t sound like the most aggravating nuisance, you could do the same.

“Oh my God, you’re like a big kid, huh? Using those big boy words.”

His eyes were burning with sage fire. “You’re just so infuriating at times.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the great Jake?”

“That’s what I mean! You’re driving me absolute insane. You’re making friends with everyone you meet.” Jake counted at his fingers. “Maverick, Bob!-”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s Bob got to do with this?”

“He’s like-” Jake grimaced. “-And you’re-” He waved towards you, very eloquently describing the issue at hand.

“I think somewhere was a compliment. Let me just reiterate: you think Bob’s a great, wonderful guy and I’m just-”

“Perfect,” he uttered with a hoarse voice.

You inhaled deeply, stammering nervously. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“It’s still the truth.”

“What if you’re only saying all of this because you can’t stand the idea of me getting with a naval aviator?” You voiced your inner worries, absolutely needing him to be truthful.

Jake opened his mouth several times before admitting, “Partly true. But the truth is, Nat made me realize I was just being too chicken to fully admit that I … I can’t imagine not spending the day with you. You make me think about you all the time. Even when I’m out with the guys and I keep thinking ‘Oh wow, Y/N would love to try out that drink’ or ‘As much as you’re a talker during Sunday Night Football-”

“Not always,” you mumbled quietly.

“-you still make it fun.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling very nervous and emotional by his words.

“Maybe I just didn’t realize I was in love with you until the concept truly hit me, that you might be into a … nice guy like Bob.”

Despite his familiar self-loathing, you couldn’t help reminding him with a small smile, “You’re a nice guy too, Jake.”

“Only with you.”

Jake’s confession made your heart palpitate in your chest nervously.

“So,” Jake started, “what do you feel for me?”

You hummed to yourself before confessing, “Ditto.”

Jake huffed loudly. “Oh my God. Of course, you’d be aggravating about it.”

“I’m just saying, maybe I really, really like you too.”

He shook his head, trying to suppress a smile. As much as you could tell what he wanted to hear from you.

In the end, you chose to take a chance. “Let’s just say, there are more times when I realized over the years how I’m in love with you than the amount of times when I can’t stand you. The second is pretty close though.”

You couldn’t have been prepared for Jake’s wide and blinding smile.

“Ditto.”

You rolled your eyes, while revealing a small smile on your lips. You decided to put him out of his misery when you admitted, “Nat was my date.”

“Wa-wait, what?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “She said that she had a specific guy in mind, but he wasn’t ready yet. I just thought it was someone who was still out on a mission. So, we hung out last night.”

Jake still remained confused. “And did what?”

“Nosy,” you mumbled. “Karaoke and stuff like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He inquired with wide eyes.

“I wanted to, but you decided to be a jerk about it.”

Jake narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. “Nat ‘Fucking Mastermind’ Trace.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jake looked at your surroundings, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Do you want to go on a date?”

You smirked. “Like a platonic one?”

“Nope, like a real one. You know, the romantic kind. I promise to make it a bit fun, unique and unforgettable.”

“That’s a big promise.”

Jake smirked arrogantly. “I’m aware. It also perfectly describes me.”

You groaned loudly. “And here we go. I want Nice Guy Jake though and not the obnoxious one.”

He was walking alongside you, nodding. “I’ll tell him to take an off-day.”

“What is it about you and Bob though? He’s just a really stand-up guy. Really funny.”

“So am I.”

“Sometimes. Let’s just say, we just get each other. You know, cut from the same cloth.”

Jake hummed. At least he was no longer being a caveman when it came to Bob. “Okay,” he said, laying his arm over your shoulder.

“I mean, he was just helping me rent an apartment in the city,” you explained, gauging his reaction.

“What?”

“Yes, he offered to put in a good word and Nat sent me a few listings.”

It seemed like the rare event of a speechless Jake took place. “Huh, that’s-”

“As I live and breathe, a speechless Jake Seresin was just seen out and about.” You glanced at him through your eyelashes. “I think you were about to say that’s a real stand-up guy thing to do, huh?”

Jake sighed, not wanting to admit reluctant respect before mumbling something under his breath which sounded close to, “Damn it, now I really got to apologize.”

You turned your head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay. There’s still time for you to deal with your big boy emotions,” you replied before you chose to do something new. By taking his hand and interlacing your fingers together. “And here I thought, judging from your letters, you had more of a rivalry thing going with Bradley.”

“I know, right? I thought I would feel threatened by Rooster of all people. But Bob?”

“Let’s just say, in another life Bob would’ve swept me off my feet,” you retorted, patting him against his chest.

His blank expression could be described as something where he tried to imagine that so-called horror reality. “… Don’t even joke about that.”

[nepotizma]

' is that really something to be suspicious about ? ' nixon asks , a curious laugh tumbles from his lips ––––  didn't think he had been that bad of a person when pair were somewhat together but maybe gillian saw differently . ' it doesn't mean i hate you , you know ? i still want us to be friends ... which means i'll still support you . but you know that ... ' he begins , smirk on his lips as he continues . ' 'cause you were at my game the other week . but you took off before i had the chance to talk to you . unless you've suddenly grown a huge interest in football , i'd take that visit as you perhaps supporting me ? ' he nods understandably , didn't want to put fem in an uncomfortable situation , would just make up some excuse to jess about the band being too busy at the moment . ' you sure ? nobody who's truly fine uses the word peachy , gill . i get it if me being here is too weird for you , just tell me and i'll take off . no hard feelings , i promise . '

                   couldn't    tell    if    she    just    simply    didn't    believe    him   ,    or    if    she    was    used    to    people    lying    to    her   .    either    way   ,    his    words    do    little    to    ease    any    budding    animosity    toward    his    arrival   .    toward    the    girl    who    was    apparently    a    big    fan   .    almost    makes    her    scoff   ,    but    she    refrains    ―    for    now   .    ❝    really    ?    we    break    things    off   ,    and    you    still    want    to    come    support    me    ?    ❞    suspicion    laces    timbre   ,    femme's    arms    crossing    over    her    chest    in    subtle    defensive    manner   .    if    she    were    being    honest   ,    she'd    rather    not    see    him    at    all   .    especially    not    with    his    new    toy    on    his    arm   .    can't    help    but    think    this    was    all    some    weird    ploy    to    make    her    as    uncomfortable    as    possible   ,    but    she    wasn't    nearly    drunk    enough    to    allow    those    queries    to    roll    off    her    tongue   .    ❝    probably    for    the    best   .    you    know    i'm    unapproachable    right    before    i    play   , nerves and all .    ❞    mutters    out   ,    on    the    cusp    of    being    venomous   ,    but    remained    stoic    for    the    most    part   .    she    would    just    seem    like    an    asshole    if    she    said    she    had    absolutely    no    desire    to    meet    jess   .    ❝    i'm    fine    ―    just    peachy   .    can't    you    tell    ?    ❞

[pigeonflavouredcake]

My Grimoire Research Library

this is a list of my major resource I've referenced/am currently referencing in my big grimoire project. For books I'll be linking the Goodreads page, for pdfs, websites and videos i'll link them directly.

There are plenty of generalised practitioner resources that can work for everyone but as I have Irish ancestry and worship Hellenic deities quite a few of my resources are centred around Celtic Ireland, ancient Greece and the Olympic mythos. If you follow other sects of paganism you are more than welcome to reblog with your own list of resources.

Parts of my grimoire discuss topics of new age spiritualism, dangerous conspiracy theories, and bigotry in witchcraft so some resources in this list focus on that.

Books

Apollodorus - The Library of Greek Mythology

Astrea Taylor - Intuitive Witchcraft

Dee Dee Chainey & Willow Winsham - Treasury of Folklore: Woodlands and Forests

John Ferguson - Among The Gods: An Archaeological Exploration of Ancient Greek Religion

Katharine Briggs - The Fairies in Tradition and Literature

Kevin Danaher - The Year in Ireland: Irish Calendar Customs

Laura O'Brien - Fairy Faith in Ireland

Lindsey C. Watson - Magic in Ancient Greece and Rome

Nicholas Culpeper - Culpeper's Complete Herbal

Plutarch - The Rise and Fall of Athens: Nine Greek Lives

R.B. Parkinson - A Little Gay History: Desire and Diversity Around the World

Rachel Patterson - Seventy Eight Degrees of Wisdom: A Tarot Journey to Self-Awareness

Raleigh Briggs - Make Your Place: Affordable & Sustainable Nesting Skills

Robin Wall Kimmerer - Braiding Sweetgrass

Ronald Hutton - The Witch: A History of Fear in Ancient Times

Rosemary Ellen Guiley - The Encyclopaedia of Witches and Witchcraft

Thomas N. Mitchell - Athens: A History of the World's First Democracy

Walter Stephens - Demon Lovers: Witchcraft S3x and the Crisis of Belief

Yvonne P. Chireau - Black Magic: Religion and The African American Conjuring Tradition

PDFs

Anti Defamation League - Hate on Display: Hate Symbols Database

Brandy Williams - White Light, Black Magic: Racism in Esoteric Thought

Cambridge SU Women’s Campaign - How to Spot TERF Ideology 2.0.

Blogs and Websites

Anti Defamation League

B. Ricardo Brown - Until Darwin: Science and the Origins of Race

Dr. S. Deacon Ritterbush - Dr Beachcomb

Folklore Thursday

Freedom of Mind Resource Centre - Steven Hassan’s BITE Model of Authoritarian Control

Institute for Strategic Dialogue

Royal Horticultural Society

The Duchas Project -National Folklore Collection

Vivienne Mackie - Vivscelticconnections

YouTube Videos

ContraPoints - Gender Critical

Emma Thorne Videos - Christian Fundie Says Halloween is SATANIC!

Owen Morgan (Telltale) - The Source Of All Conspiracies: A 1902 Document Called "The Protocols"

The Belief it or Not Podcast - Ep. 40 Satanic Panic, Ep 92. Wicca

Wendigoon - The Conspiracy Theory Iceberg

Other videos I haven't referenced but you may still want to check out

Atun-Shei Films - Ancient Aryans: The History of Crackpot N@zi Archaeology

Belief It Or Not - Ep. 90 - Logical Fallacies

Dragon Talisman - Tarot Documentary (A re-upload of the 1997 documentary Strictly Supernatural: Tarot and Astrology)

Lindsay Ellis - Tracing the Roots of Pop Culture Transphobia

Overly Sarcastic Productions - Miscellaneous Myths Playlist

Owen Morgan (Telltale) - SATANIC PANIC! 90s Video Slanders Satanists | Pagan Invasion Saga | Part 1

ReignBot - How Ouija Boards Became "Evil" | Obscura Archive Ep. 2

Ryan Beard - Demi Lovato Promoted a R4cist Lizard Cult

Super Eyepatch Wolf - The Bizarre World of Fake Psychics, Faith Healers and Mediums

Weird Reads with Emily Louise -The Infamous Hoaxes Iceberg Playlist

Wendigoon - The True Stories of the Warren Hauntings: The Conjuring, Annabelle, Amityville, and Other Encounters

[ficsbyuzi]

All the ways lead to you - part 4

Characters - Aemond Targaryen and Inara Maegyr (OFC) in a modern AU.

Warning: just some fluffy, swoon worthy moments

Word count: 1875

Masterlist

Part 3

A/N - Not proofread or beta read; I just write whatever comes to my mind. Isn’t that what us amateur writers are here for anyway? 🙃

Also, I’m using Mr. Mitchell’s face as Aemond for the first time in the header of my fic. Earlier, I was not in the favor of using an actor’s picture in fan-fictions. But since he too keeps Aemond with him all the time, I thought, why not? Plus this picture fits the story really well. 😩

“AEMOND? AEMOND TARGARYEN? Oh my god, oh my god, Inara, do you know how big of a star he is?”

Inara’s baby sister Nina’s voice echoed through the phone, high-pitched and brimming with excitement.

“Apparently, the whole world knows but me,” Inara responded robotically, rolling her eyes.

“You and your books and your makeup set! I have been begging you to watch some TV, but noooo…”

“Nina, manners.”

Nina apologized airily and quickly switched to her yapping.

“Tell me, did you speak to HIM?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Inara’s lips, which quickly faded as she recalled how Aemond brusquely brushed her off at their first meeting.

“Yeah, I did, but..” Inara couldn’t finish her sentence as gasps and squeals erupting from the phone startled her. She chuckled, flinching and moving the phone away from her ear. She could envision her sister flailing her arms.

“OMG, OMG, OMG, how does he sound? What does he smell like?" Nina bombarded her with inquiries.

"Smell? What? Calm down! He's just another person."

Inara was trying her best to sound composed and nonchalant, but an unbidden blush on her face said otherwise.

Two weeks ago, after the orientation meetings, she told herself that she would watch Aemond's shows objectively, to simply familiarize herself with his work and appreciate his talent as an actor.

But something like a tiny spark of infatuation ignited within her as she watched him on screen. Scene after scene unfolded, each one highlighting Aemond's charisma and irresistible charm. Everything about him fueled that spark - his witty dialogue, the intense romantic scenes with his co-stars, and the way he conveyed every emotion through his eyes.

The more she watched, the more spellbound she got.

And despite her earnest efforts to extinguish the spark, she couldn't. If anything, it grew into a proper flame, now constantly fueled by an anticipation of seeing and working with him every day.

"Are you there? Inara?"

"Yes...yes, I'm here, Nina. You were saying?" She cleared her throat, trying to shake off her daydreams.

God, why is it so difficult to focus these days?

"I was asking if you can get his autograph for me? Please say yes, please, please...pretty please?"

"Okay, okay, I'll try, stop begging." She sighed as more squeals and OMGs came from the other side of the phone.

“You are the best sister in the whole world!”

“Yeah, yeah, now I really need to go to bed. I'll call you later, alright? Love you. Good night."

The thought of navigating a request for an autograph swirled in her head as she prepared for bed.

Hours passed and her mind refused to shut down. Sleep seemed to elude her. Nerve-wracking thoughts of her first day at the shoot kept intertwining with the thrilling anticipation of meeting Aemond, making it impossible for her to catch even a second of rest.

After hours of staring at the ceiling and tossing and turning in bed, Inara finally succumbed to her restlessness. A refreshing shower and a mug of her strongest coffee later, she was on her way to the Red Keep studios. As the rosy, dawn rays peeked through the gray sky, she arrived on set, making her way to the makeup trailer.

She found Margaery, already setting up the workstations. Just when she got to know a slight change in her duties, which now appointed her to Aemond's makeup and costume exclusively, he returned to the trailer with two coffee cups in his hands.

Her insides somersaulted the moment her eyes met his.

A baggy gray tracksuit covered his lean frame, hiding all the musculature. His short, platinum hair - slightly tousled today, starkly contrasted the well-groomed hair she was used to seeing. Even in plain clothes, he looked every bit a royal prince.

"I thought you guys might need a cuppa. It's going to be a long day," he said with an impassive face, handing over the cup to Inara.

And there it was.

That unsought, uninvited feeling in her core that kept resurfacing at the sound of his deep, velvety voice.

A warm, tingling sensation that traveled all the way up to her face, suffusing her golden skin with a tinge of pink.

For a moment, she couldn't believe that the same Aemond, a big star, who snubbed her the other day, now stood before her with an arm outstretched, offering a cup of coffee to her.

"Thank you," she replied in a timid voice, forcing her lips not to curve into a smile but her eyes gave her away.

But when she got only a nonchalant hum in response, that smile from her eyes died too.

Gosh, why is he like this?

Staying quiet, she schooled her features into neutrality while her senior took charge of most of the work. However, each time she assisted in adjusting Aemond's costume or blending the makeup on his face, she could feel his gaze fixed upon her.

As she watched him walk out of the trailer, all primped for his shot, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Are you okay?" Margaery asked, breaking her focus from the trailer's door.

"I... yeah," she lied, rubbing a finger on her temple and removing her apron.

"I'm fine, just tired.”

She was lying to herself too, stifling the novel feelings growing inside her. Scolding herself for letting her focus waver over a silly celebrity crush.

Margaery chuckled in response, leaving Inara to wonder if she could see through her façade.

-

Over the next few days, Inara settled into the rhythm of her life in the new city.

And yet, every day when Aemond walked into the make-up trailer, the air inside the room shifted for her, making her nerves fly all over the place.

He wouldn't smile or say anything to her, but she would feel his eyes burn a hole into her face the entire time he sat there.

Everyday, she tried her best not to be intimidated, but her hands betrayed her nervousness, and Margeary would have to step in to correct her flimsy work on Aemond’s face.

She often wondered if he would fire her because of her jittery inefficiency.

And while she struggled to maintain her calm around her, it didn’t escape her notice that whenever a scene was cut or there was a break in filming for touch-ups, Aemond's eyes would seek her out.

“I'm reading too much into things,” a sane voice would counter in her head, reminding herself that everything was strictly professional: an amicable rapport between an employee and employer.

He seeks me out for touch-ups. Yeah, that’s all.

Whatever her unease was, it still was not enough to loosen the pull she felt toward him.

Every day, she found herself drawn to him, discovering a new trait and adding to her understanding of who he was.

Cold, yet inviting. Mysterious, yet an open book for all to read. Quiet, and yet his eyes told a story she was unable to decipher.

As if I could ever..

-

When Margaery called in sick one day, Inara was left solely in charge of the entire makeup session, including on-set touch-ups. The thought of being alone in the makeup trailer with Aemond sent her heart scrambling for composure.

The door of the trailer opened and she practically jumped.

"Dr. Maegyr,” he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Umm..Margaery is not here today, just me. " Inara informed, fiddling with her apron, as she noticed Aemond looking around for Margaery.

A sudden glint appeared in his violet eyes, with a subtle smile gracing his lips.

Did he just smile? At me?

However, the moment the question popped up in her mind, she saw his eyebrows furrow, his expressions turning to one of unsurety and concern.

"Uh..she..called in sick." Fumbling for words, she gestured towards the makeup chair in front of the mirror, asking him to sit. "I spoke to her and prescribed some medication. I'll try my best to finish the look on time. Shall we begin?"

“Hmm.”

As Inara worked on his makeup and prosthetic, her brush slipped, smudging the final touches. She gasped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Reflexively, in an attempt to quickly correct her mistake, she used her finger tips instead of the brush.

Aemond’s eyes flew open at the unexpected touch.

Oh no..no no..

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, her hands shaking, “I did not mean to,” she jerked her hand away from his face.

Aemond noticed her unease, his piercing gaze softening just a fraction. "Are you okay?"

"I... yeah, I... I'm fine," she replied, her voice wavering as she fumbled to find something on the counter, her mind in a whirl.

As she turned to face him again, a commotion erupted outside the trailer. Without warning, Aemond swiftly rose from his seat, towering over her and unintentionally trapping her in a corner against the makeup counter.

What in the..

Inara steadied herself, placing a hand on the counter.

Aemond’s sudden proximity left her breath trapped in her throat. The scent of his leather costume, mingling with his own essence, enveloped her.

Her last coherent thought was of how he always carried a faint scent of coffee and cigarettes, before her mind went numb, abandoning her wildly thumping heart to interpret the torrent of sensations within.

Her eyes remained stubbornly locked with his as she fought the urge to flutter them shut.

Inara watched as his stolid, ethereal Valyrian features softened in slight amusement.

She could feel his exterior guard cracking too, when he placed an arm over her head on the mirror and leaned closer.

Oh God.

“We all make mistakes,” he spoke in a tone she thought she was sure she only heard in a scene of one of his romantic movies

A silky whisper that reverberated through her, sending delicious waves all over.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” His other hand moved and stopped near Inara’s hand on the counter.

For a moment, she wondered if her heart now joined the stuck breath in her throat.

“Please don’t fire me,” Inara finally breathed out, still unsure if she had spoken the words aloud or if they were just a regular alarm of anxiety in her head.

Only when Aemond replied, “And why would I let you go, Inara,” dropping his voice to a low murmur and shifting his gaze to her lips, did she realize that she had spoken her thought aloud.

The noise of the hustle and bustle outside began to die down, as Aemond straightened up. Moving away from her, his fingers brushed against her hand, his lips curling into a tender smile.

“I should get going... Are we done here?” His usual business tone was back in a blink of an eye, nudging Inara out of her dream-like daze.

Done? Done with what?

“Yeah... sure... we... we’re done,” she stammered, her gaze shifting from his lips to the floor.

As she watched him walk away from her swiftly, sanity flickered back into her mind.

The moment he stepped out of the door, her knees turned into rubber. She placed one hand on her chest, gripping the counter harder from the other, trying to anchor herself into the physical reality.

What the hell just happened?

The rest of her day slipped by in a blur. Thoughts of what happened in the trailer lingered around her, all the time, teasing her. Caressing her.

It was only when she lay on her bed at night that Aemond’s words resonated in her half asleep mind. Words which she barely registered when he stood so close and the heat of his body seeped into her, tingling each cell of her body.

The same warmth now returned with the memory of his fingers briefly brushing her hand on the counter.

She could almost hear those words in his low, gravely voice -

“And why would I let you go, Inara?”

-x-

Part 5

Taglist: @zenka69

[mooniedust]

Modern Aemond X Transreader Prompt

Plot: You and Aemond are in a casual relationship, but you yearn for something deeper and more meaningful, something Aemond seems either incapable of or unwilling to give. At a gathering of acquaintances, the suggestion to play "Truth or Dare" comes up. You speak impulsively, leading to a confrontation between the two of you that escalates upstairs at the party.

TW: This prompt addresses sensitive issues related to gender identity, including feelings of inadequacy in one’s own skin and internalized transphobia. As a trans man who has faced these struggles, I want to stress that there is no intent to romanticize these psychological challenges. If you’re experiencing something similar, please seek support/help. And remember, you are not alone, you are valid, and you are loved.

Note: This is Aemond's version of my other prompt/bot "Casual," originally created with Aegon. Many changes have been made to fit each character’s personality.

With all my heart,

Moon dust.

---

"I just don't get it. We do all these things together, so why does the word 'dating' seem so terrifyingly repulsive?" Your voice rang out, sharp and edged with desperation, as he tore off the jewelry he had meticulously chosen for the party. The makeup, once accentuating his beauty with almost artistic precision, now only served to make him look like a clown—desperate, pleading for crumbs of a committed relationship.

They had been involved for six months—two young men starved for touch, caught in an addictive pattern of casual encounters. Outings filled with conversations about mutual interests, provoking each other until one was pinned against the wall, breathless, moaning as if their body was being worshipped by the divine. You were at peace with this. Aemond had made it clear from the start what you were and always would be: not a couple, but a refuge, a release valve.

until you weren't anymore.

Perhaps it was naive of you to allow yourself to fall for him despite his insufferably cynical personality, but you did, and with overwhelming intensity. Something changed over those months—nights spent tangled in each other's arms, him always pulling your body closer whenever the emptiness of the bed threatened to separate you, the gentle kisses on your forehead while you slept, or that one time, after the most intense sex either of you had ever experienced, when he broke the silence to cry, to talk about his family and the loneliness that consumed him in his own home. That was when he spoke of feelings, something he never did—except with you.

It was a low blow.

Congratulations, you fell for the broken boy.

And so the story brings you both to the end of a decadent party at a classmate's house, a gathering far too loud for overwhelmed minds. It was inevitable that, at some point, half-drunk teenagers would start a game of "truth or dare"—drama has always been a fuel as potent as alcohol. Maybe it was a stupid game, but you wanted to hear those words, to push him until he confessed them. You wanted to hear so many unspoken truths. But you ruined everything. When the bottle pointed at him and you opened your reckless mouth, you ruined everything.

"Is it true what you said that night? The movie night at Lauren's house, when we were almost asleep—you said you loved me. Is that true?" The tension in the room became palpable the moment you finished your question. The number of eyes fixed on you was a sign that you had gone too far, and the game no longer seemed fun. Damn it. Fuck. Shit.

No one had to wait long for an answer before Aemond grabbed your hand to the muffled sound of Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." His long fingers wrapped around your small hand, while his other hand guided your waist upstairs with a simple, serious "we need to talk, alone."

It was your walk of shame to one of the rooms where the two of you would sleep that night, your hands sweating and fidgeting with the hem of your short black skirt, desperately trying to channel your feelings into anything but Aemond "I don't know what we are" Targaryen.

"It makes no sense to keep saying we're nothing. It's almost cruelty, treating all of this like a relationship and then getting mad when I want one—it's unfair." You repeated, your voice now tinged with pain and exhaustion, your eyebrows furrowed, your face twisted in a grimace of despair.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for what?

"Because we're not in a relationship. We talked about this on the first day we decided to start, you agreed, and so did I." Aemond avoided your gaze as he closed the door to the room, but the tension was visible in his rigid shoulders and in the way his right hand rubbed his left temple, near the black eye patch, trying to relieve an invisible strain.

"I've changed, Aemond. I'm everything you need. I can wear skirts, makeup—God, I could even be a girl if it means you'll stay with me. I can forget about this whole trans thing, maybe it's just in my head, yeah? Silly me. Just stay with me, please, You love me, we both know that. I just need you to tell the truth, just once, so that all this pain and turmoil in my heart and mind will have been worth it."

But they aren't worth it.

"Look, I'll say this because you're right about one thing: I love you, {{user}}." He finally spoke after long minutes of silence, his sapphire eye locked onto yours, but his hardened expression made it clear this conversation would not end with a simple declaration of love. "But I could never love you in the way you want. I don't want a relationship right now with you. It doesn't matter if you feel like a woman or a man—that's not the point. Just not now."

"But you could, maybe in the future. I could wait." Your voice was almost pitiful, a desperate plea. Never in your life had you begged for anything, let alone for someone's love. And now, here you were, dressed in clothes that made you uncomfortable, your makeup ruined by tears, covered in all those things that made you look more like a doll just to make Aemond might find that attractive.

Look like a girl.

It's always been your insecurity with gender, too feminine to be seen as a man, but too masculine to be loved as a false woman."

Silly boy.

Aemond smiled faintly, a barely noticeable pull of his lips as he moved closer with calculated steps. He hovered in front of you, his thumb gently wiping your cheek in a gesture almost tender. God, you were pathetic, even to him.

"I never could, either, and that would make the wait even more painful. Do you understand? I might wake up one day and want to get married, have kids, and all that domestic nonsense we've always mocked. How can I guarantee I'll feel the same way in four years? I don't want you to wait. I don't want you to change. No one who truly loves you should ask that of you. This is probably where I have to end the mess we've made." He bent down slightly, tucking a few stray hairs behind your ear, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before whispering that he was sorry.

Aemond’s steps retreated, leaving you surrounded by cold, by the emptiness that had always been there, but this time it was final, a last goodbye.

"Someone will love you. Someone will love the man you are. But that someone won't be me. I'm sorry."

Four weeks.

And Aemond was now officially and openly dating a girl.

[dietpepzi]

‘   so   i   should   probably   be   fully   honest   with   you   before   we   go   in   .   .   .   i   didn’t   say   it   before   because   i   couldn't   bare   to   take   the   smile   off   your   face   when   you   saw   the   picture   .   but   i   haven't   stayed   here   since   i   was   a   kid   ,   none   of   my   family   have   ,   ‘cause   my   mom   insists   she   had   a   conversation   with   my   dad   .   just   for   my   dad   to   call   her   five   minutes   later   ,   telling   her   he   was   nowhere   near   the   estate   and   didn’t   know   what   she   was   talking   about   .   it's   fine   ,   though   ,   my   sister   comes   up   every   few   months   to   keep   things   clean   and   tidy   so   there's   no   dusty   ,   messy   horror   movie   -   esque   interior   .   it's   all   cosy   ,   everything   works   .   the   cell   reception   is   just   fine   so   we   can   order   take   out   .   but   it's   up   to   you   .   '

[nepotizma]

❛ what are you talking about , you always turn me on? ❜

[bobby-r2d2-floyd]

Never There (REUPLOADED)

Author’s note: it’s... been a while since I’ve written anything, I wrote a lot of hockey imagines back in the day and haven’t posted anything in a handful of years, but I recently watched Top Gun Maverick for the first time and this came to me as I was falling asleep one night and I just needed to get out. 

Prompt: “you were never there for me when I wanted you to be there, they were.”

Pairing: Bradley x f!Reader, slight Bob x f!Reader if you squint; no use of Y/N, only body description is curvy

warning: swearing, mentions of cheating, mentions of lingerie

not dialogue heavy

REUPLOADED

Words: 2.5k

-----------

You and Bradley grew up together. Your mom’s were best friends, you two had been born only months apart from each other, and when Bradley’s dad passed away, it was a no-brainer that your mom would take Carole and Bradley in. 

Growing up your mom’s always had the idea that you and Bradley would end up together, so when you two started dating they were over the moon. You two were already inseparable, add romance to the mix and you two became unbearable to all of your friends, he was your first everything; first love, first kiss, first time, and later on, first heartbreak.

When Carole passed away it was hard for Bradley. To be so young and to have already lost both your parents before becoming an adult yourself is no easy feat. Unfortunately, your mom followed soon after Carole. Your dad was no longer in the picture, so leaving the only place you had ever called home was easy to do. 

You followed Bradley to University of Virginia after you graduated high school, he studied political science and you took undergrad courses that would later allow you to get into veterinary medicine, something that you had felt called to do your whole life, just like he felt a call to the Navy. 

You’ll never forget when he came home, seething angry about how his godfather pulled his papers into the naval academy. You were there for him while he cried in frustration and cursed Pete “Maverick” Mitchell’s name. 

You were there for his college graduation, proudly cheering for him from the audience as he got his political science degree. He had a massive smile on his face as he realized he was finally able to focus on getting into the Navy. Which he did, later that summer after he graduated. 

When it came time for you to graduate with a general science degree, he was nowhere to be seen. The seat that he should have been sitting in was empty and cold, and you returned home to a dark apartment later that evening. It was after midnight when he finally made his appearance, stumbling into the unit you two shared after a night out with a few guys he had met at the naval academy who happened to be in town. You just smiled and told him it was okay before tucking him into bed. 

When he graduated from the naval academy, you were there for his tapping out ceremony. He reminded you everyday in the week leading up to it so you wouldn’t forget, not like it mattered though because you couldn’t wait to see him doing what he wanted to do. 

You put your career on hold while he was away at Top Gun, you would bartend while he would sit at the bar so you could spend time together, that was before he met a solid group of fellow aviators who became his friends, and in turn yours. 

You applied to University of California, Davis for their veterinary program and ended up being accepted into the program on your first application. You were over the moon, but when you called him he left you with a “that’s great baby, but I’m out with the guys right now. Love you” before hanging up and you sighed, knowing he was stressed and this was an easy way for him to blow off some steam. 

You met the special detachment a few weeks before your white coat ceremony at UC Davis, connecting instantly with all of them and they were all excited for you to attend the veterinary program. There were promises of them attending the white coat ceremony so you got tickets for the six of them, plus Bradley. 

You texted all of them in a group chat about what time the ceremony started and they all assured you that they would be there, but when your name got called, only Bob was seated in the middle of six empty chairs. Your heart sank but you kept your smile as you got your white coat.

“Well, look at you.” Bob says in his Montanan accent and you smile as he wraps his arms around you. “You look great, future dog-ter.” 

You laugh and choke back the tears, “Thanks Bobby, it means a lot.” you give him a small smile and he rubs your shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” he says and you shrug, not worth dwelling on the rest of the team not being there.

He takes you out to dinner and despite only knowing each other for a few weeks, it felt easy talking to him. You opened up to him about your dad never being there, your mom raising you alongside Bradley with Carole. You tell him about your childhood dog Harley and how your grandparents had a couple of horses in the mountains that you used to ride. He told you about his sisters, what life was like in rural Montana, and how he couldn’t wait to go back and see his family even if it meant doing some chores around the farm. When he smiled at you over a shared piece of tiramisu, you knew you were done for.

You kept your secret for the next four years, every important event in your life, you counted on Bradley not to show up, but Bob was always there to take you out for dinner afterwards, an unspoken tradition. 

You had many fights with Bradley during those four years, each fight led you to spend the night at Bob’s and overtime he fell for you too. Slowly, then all at once when you ended up on his doorstep crying for the third time this month already.

“Sweetheart..” he breathes out as you barely into his chest and sob. He pulls you inside and shuts and locks his door before walking over to the couch, “do you want to talk about it?” he asks and you just shake your head no.

“Brad and I broke up.” you sob out and he holds you a little tighter.

Two days ago, you graduated with your PhD in veterinary medicine. You had done it, you officially became a doctor. You had invited everyone to the ceremony, Bradley, Bob, Phoenix, Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback, even Maverick and Penny were invited to the graduation ceremony. You told all of them and circled the time that you were graduating since there were two times listed for the building your ceremony was held. You were in the 1-4pm time slot and you even texted everyone the day of the ceremony that you would see time in a few hours at 1pm before you had to line up. When Bob is the only one standing there you’re a little discouraged but he told you not to worry, and that the rest of the gang would be there soon, he was just early. You smiled and talked with him for a bit before being called to line up. He gives you a hug and a kiss on the head, making you both blush before he goes and finds his seat. 

After the ceremony, however, your heart sank deep into the depths of your stomach and he shakes his head, “I am so sorry, sweetheart..” and you just shake your head.

“Don’t. I don’t want to cry right now.” you say and he smiles before taking your phone from you and holding it out so he can take some pictures of you two. A friend of yours from the program offers to ‘take a few pictures of you and your boyfriend’ and before you can correct her, Bob passes your phone with a smile and wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close to him and kisses your temple. The gesture takes you by surprise and your friend captures your genuine reaction to it with a smile before handing your phone back to you before walking away.

“Ready to go get dinner?” He asks and you shake your head.

“No, can we go to the Hard Deck?” you ask, knowing that that’s where you’ll find everyone else. He just nods and takes your hand, butterflies appear where there was previously a hot coal of disappointment. Bob drove back to the airport where a charter flight was waiting to take you back to San Diego. On the flight back, you look through your photo album, realizing way too quickly that you had more photos of you and Bob over the years than you ever did you and Bradley. 

You drafted up an instagram post, waiting to publish it after you landed. You selected the picture that your friend took as well as a selfie that Bob took. Finally a dog-ter, thanks bobby for being the best of the best you caption the post and tag Bob in the post. 

You hit post when the plane touches down, it was a short flight thank god, and before you know it you're busting through the doors of the Hard Deck. 

“Bradley Bradshaw.” you spit when you see him standing a little too close to Phoenix.

“Wha-” he starts when he sees you walking up to him and you slap him across the face. “What the fuck is your problem?” he nearly yells, grabbing the whole attention of the bar. 

“You are.” you spit out before looking at the rest of the group. “You know, the one time I care about you all showing up for me, and being there for me, was today. I never asked for anything and I forgave all of you every other time that y’all bailed on plans. My white coat ceremony? That’s fine, it wasn’t too big of a deal.” You turn and look at Bradley, “my graduation from UVA? You weren’t there. You weren’t at my high school graduation, you didn’t come back for my senior prom either. You come home late most nights and are gone before I wake up.. It’s like I don’t even know who you are anymore Brad..” you say before turning to leave. “And, you two? You’re adults who have been like my parents for the last five years, and not even you could show up for my doctorate graduation?” you just shake your head and leave everyone staring at each other, the bar quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop in the kitchen. You walk out to Bob’s car and lean against it and let out a sob, jumping when you feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s just me.. Do you want to come back to mine?” Bob asks and you shake your head no.

“Can you take me back to mine? I think I’m gonna pack some stuff up… I can’t do this anymore Bob.. I want to go back home.” you choke out and he nods his head, opening the passenger door up for you and you waste no time sitting down in the seat. He shuts the door behind you and walks to the driver’s side. Once inside he looks at you and places a gentle hand on your leg that doesn’t move until you get out of his car in your driveway. 

“Thank you.” you say and he looks over at you with a small smile.

“You don’t need to thank me for anything, darlin’.” He says and before you can change your mind, you lean across the center console of his FJ and kiss him softly. 

“I do, though.” you say before getting out of the car and into the apartment that you share with Brad. When you hear Bob pull away you look around the living room, seeing more of Brad’s achievements around the area than any of yours. 

Packing is easy, you already had a few things squared away and in the back of your jeep, knowing that Bradley would never care enough to check your car for anything. You were in the process of finishing on clearing out your closet when you found a lingerie set that isn’t yours. The biggest giveaways are that it’s too slim for your curvy figure, it’s lace, and it’s a deep shade of pink. You only wore red or black when the mood struck and never any lace. The fact that your boyfriend was sleeping with someone else, in your own bed, just made you sick. You continued packing, quicker now that you found the lingerie. 

You were coming back in from taking the last suitcase out to your car when Bradley pulled into the driveway. "What are you doing?" he asks and you look over at him.

"What do you mean 'what are you doing?' Bradley? I'm fucking done." you say as you walk into the bedroom to grab the lace one piece. 

"You're leaving?" he asks, voice booming in the unit. 

"Yeah! I'm fucking leaving, Bradley! I'm tired of not being important enough for you anymore!" your voice echoes in the hall as you stomp back to here he his, shoving the garment at his chest, "we're fucking done." 

He pales when he looks at what you slapped against him "Baby I-"

"Don't. Don't you fucking 'baby' me, Bradley. You were never there for me and now I understand why. How long have you been fucking her?"

"I'm not fucking Phoenix. How long have you been fucking Bob?" he spits, throwing the lace on the floor.

"I never said a name." you say, eyes full of unshed tears and he pales when he realizes his mistake. "I understand that I went to school eight hours away, you don't think that wasn't hard for me? Obviously it was easy for you when you had your fucking wingman in our bed! Is that why there's no trace of me, of us, anywhere in this apartment? There's no more pictures of us on the wall, just your stuff in the bathroom.. I'm tired of living like a stranger in my own fucking home!"

He tries to take a step closer but you take two steps back. "How long?" you ask, refusing to look at him.

"How long what?"

"How long since you stopped loving me?" you say, voice above a whisper. 

In his silence, you find your answer. You nod softly with a self depreciating laugh. "When you weren't there for me, Bob was. I was there for you, for everything. Since we were babies and I couldn't even get you to show up for me, one time. All the military ceremonies and the navy balls and the graduations, and seeing you off before deployments and being there when you got back but you couldn't once be there for me?" you say, finally looking over at him as the tears fall. "I never cheated on you with Bob. I've never had sex with him, Roos.." you bite back a sob and he hangs his head. "But somewhere along the way I fell in love with him, and i can only hope that one day you will actually love someone how I loved you." you say, slipping the apartment key off your keys and you place it gently on the coffee table before walking out the door on the man you thought that you were going to spend the rest of your life with, and into the arms of the man who was always there for you.

[nepotizma]

brunet enters the room with hands in the air , mock defensive fashion at quinn's cautious words . ' hey , hey ... chill . ' nixon advises , stepping toward his friend slowly . ' you don't have to , okay ? you can do what you wanna do . ' arms reach out into the air , offering the blonde a hug , if it's what she desired . ' i just don't get it , i thought you really liked this person ––––  what happened ? '

♡  muse  ↝ quinn riley.

♡  closed for  ↝ @lliterate

' i'm not here to talk about my feelings. '

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~Prologue~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmother’s spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, he’s not too fond of the idea of having to babysit either. Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world against her will from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, slow burn, smut (in the later chapters) language, gore.

Word Count: 1,171

A/N: Hey guys, I’m back with a new story! Please keep in mind that the themes and dialogue may not be accurate to the show, like the policewoman’s name. I don’t remember it and tbh I try not to remember this episode that much lol but Dean doesn’t die in my story so nothing will be accurate really lol. This story is based in season 15 after the show ends! Happy Reading! ♥️

Dean Winchester was supposed to die.

Hell, he was ready for it at this point. He'd always figured it would happen with blood on his hands and his brother by his side. What he hadn't expected was for fate to delay its hand—yet again.

The air was sharp with the smell of blood and decay as Dean and Sam arrived at the crime scene, posing as FBI agents. It was their usual cover, a routine they could pull off in their sleep. But there was something about this case that felt off—something dark and familiar.

The policewoman on the scene, Officer Mitchell, stood grimly by as she filled them in on the gruesome details. "The man's body was drained of blood, the mother had her tongue cut out, and the children... well, they're missing. No sign of them."

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. "What about witnesses?"

"One," Officer Mitchell replied, her voice tight. "The mother survived long enough to sketch this." She handed Sam a drawing, a crude yet chilling image of a masked face. Sam's brows furrowed as he examined it.

Dean leaned in for a closer look, a pit forming in his stomach. The mask was unmistakable—he'd seen it before.

"We've dealt with this," Sam muttered, his voice low enough only Dean could hear.

They quickly checked their father's journal back at the Impala. Flipping through the pages, Dean found what he was looking for: A string of killings following the same MO. John Winchester had hunted something like this before. His gut twisted as he read on.

Dean sighed, tapping the page. "Vamps. It's gotta be them. Dad even noted the missing kids. Same pattern."

Sam, more meticulous, studied the notes carefully. "If it's the same nest, we can predict where they'll strike next. They're following a trail of isolated houses on the outskirts."

Dean's jaw tightened, his mind already in hunting mode. "Then we've got work to do."

Under the cover of darkness, Dean and Sam pulled up to an old house on the edge of town. The moonlight barely illuminated the place, but the brothers could sense something sinister lurking within.

"Let's make this quick," Dean grunted, pulling his machete from the trunk. "I'm not in the mood for a long fight tonight."

Sam gave a half-smile, loading his shotgun with silver rounds. "When are you ever?"

They moved quietly, splitting up to flank the house. Dean came up behind one of the masked killers and, in one swift motion, decapitated him. The body crumpled soundlessly to the ground. Across the yard, Sam incapacitated the other, pinning the vampire to the ground.

Dean approached, eyes cold as steel, gripping his blade. "Where are the kids?"

The vampire, blood smeared on its lips, only sneered in response. Dean squatted down, pressing the tip of his machete to the creature's throat. "Let me be clear. You don't tell us, and this is gonna be a slow, painful death."

The vampire's bravado faltered, eyes flickering with fear. "Alright... alright. They're growing them as food," it spat. "At the nest. North side of the woods. But you're too late. The rest of them are waiting."

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam. "Then we'll take the fight to them."

The brothers arrived at the rundown farmhouse deep in the woods, arming themselves with machetes and stakes, ready for the confrontation ahead. Through the shattered windows, Dean could see shadows moving inside—masked vampires watching their every move.

"Let's go get those kids," Sam whispered, tightening his grip on his weapon.

They stormed in, finding the missing children huddled in a filthy corner of the basement. Dean's heart clenched as he saw their scared, wide eyes. He knelt down, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We're getting you out of here, okay?"

But their escape wasn't going to be easy. As they led the kids out, vampires blocked the exits, their fangs gleaming in the dim light. Dean and Sam moved in unison, cutting down two vampires each. Sam evacuated the kids while Dean held off the remaining vampires, slashing and hacking with a brutal efficiency.

Then, just as they thought they had the upper hand, one vampire knocked Sam to the ground, and another tackled Dean, pinning him down. A familiar face stepped out of the shadows, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"Jenny," Dean spat, recognizing the female vampire from an old hunt. She'd escaped once before.

Jenny knelt beside him, her fingers tracing the wound on his arm with a sickening intimacy. "It's been a long time, Dean."

Before she could sink her teeth into him, Sam came up from behind, decapitating her with a sharp swing of his machete. Dean scrambled to his feet, but the last vampire blindsided him, shoving him into a metal spike. Pain exploded through his body as the spike impaled him from the back.

Sam finished off the vampire but froze when he saw Dean, blood pouring from the wound. "Dean!"

Dean grimaced, breathing heavily, the pain unbearable. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he wheezed. "Not this time."

Sam's hands shook as he tried to inspect the wound. "Hold on, man. I'll get the first aid kit."

But Dean grabbed his arm, pulling him close. "No. Just... just stay with me, okay? It was always supposed to end like this."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, but he nodded, helpless as he cradled his brother.

"Get the kids somewhere safe, Sam," Dean muttered, his voice growing weaker. "Do it... without me."

"We'll do it together," Sam choked out. "We always do it together."

Dean's breath hitched, his body growing cold. "Not this time."

Just as Dean's eyes began to flutter closed, a warm light filled the room. Jack appeared, his expression calm but sorrowful.

"Jack..." Sam gasped, confused. "What—why?"

Jack knelt beside Dean, placing a hand over the wound. A bright, golden light flared, and Dean's breathing evened out, the wound sealing up as if it had never been there. Dean blinked, staring in disbelief as the pain vanished.

"You said you weren't interfering anymore," Sam said, stunned. "Why save him?"

Jack stood, his gaze soft but firm. "Because Cas asked me to. He's alive. I brought him back. He begged me... not to let Dean die. Not like this."

Dean swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "Cas is... alive?"

Jack nodded. "Yes."

Dean shook his head, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Damn... I'm glad that feathered son of a bitch is back."

Sam was still dazed but grateful, tears brimming as he looked at his brother, whole and alive. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack gave a small, sad smile. "You're not done yet. There's more ahead. But for now... you're together."

And with that, Jack vanished, leaving the brothers alone in the quiet aftermath of the battle—alive, for another day.

Dean turned to Sam, a wry grin forming. "Guess the dying thing's gonna have to wait."

Sam chuckled through his tears, relief washing over him. "Yeah. Guess so."

[p0isonyouth]

Mastermind | Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid didn't want to love again.

After the passing of his late girlfriend, Maeve Donovan, the young genius believed that everyone in his life would eventually leave him.

So he chose not to get attached.

Valeria Bela had no time for love.

Though the young woman grew up in a home full of love and care, she refused to have her feelings get in the way of her work once again.

So she chose to be closed off.

Both Spencer and Valeria had come to terms with their resentment of love, more so what had happened to get them to feel so negatively about it. But, when young Supervisory Special Agent Bela joins the BAU, both soon forget about their rule with strong rivalry and stolen kisses.

A/N - Unfortunately, I do not own Criminal Minds, nor their characters or plots. I do not own dialogue, cases, or episodes, those go to the beautiful minds of the writers (MGG EPISODES !!!!). I also do not own any of the gifs presented in this story. These were picked at random via Pinterest. I do, however, own Valeria Bela as well as any other characters that are not created by the Criminal Minds enterprise. I also own plotlines that are designed by me. Without further ado, welcome to Mastermind!

P.S. - Valeria's face claim is Shay Mitchell. Timothy's is Pedro Pascal. Antonio's is Avan Jogia. And it's up to interpretation whom her mother's is.

Warnings:

Since you are reading a Criminal Minds Fanfic, I'm sure you expect what is to happen in episodes, but just in case you like jumping into a fandom by fanfic, here's some trigger warnings: assault, depression/depressive episodes, gore, kidnapping, murder, sexual assault, sexual innuendos, swearing, torture, violence, etc... ( there are way more, but i'm sure you get the point)

NOTICE ~ CHAPTER ONE

"YOU COMING, ROSSI?" Timothy Bela questioned his partner as he started the engine of a government-owned black SUV. 

They were chasing an unsub that they had been after for weeks, a serial killer who targeted normal families. With all the information gathered, they had determined their suspect to be Stephen Jenkins, a 28-year-old man. The boy was an orphan, always by himself until he went to college, found a job, and married the so-called love of his life. That was until she passed away a couple months later. The man kept to himself, only venturing out of his house every so often. To kill.

Timothy Bela and David Rossi had no doubts that the sadistic man was not working alone due to his elaborate work, but they had to catch him first.

Timothy lived for the thrill of the chase. He loved the adrenaline that spiked in his veins as he was catching an unsub, however, he knew he had to be more careful with his life. Timothy had a wife now, Meredith Bela, and two children, nine-year-old Valeria, and one-year-old Antonio. He was expected to be a role model, a parent, and most importantly, a hero.

The red and blue lights flashed from the top of the black SUV as the duo raced through the streets to catch their unsub. David Rossi's eyes focused on the streets ahead but moved over to his partner and longtime best friend for a brief second. "So, how are the kids, Timothy? Is Valeria still up to her usual trouble?"

"She sees her Uncle Rossi a little too much for her own good." The man said with a small chuckle, turning the wheel to make a hard left turn. "Wants to be just like us when she's older."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Bela." 

The black vehicle stopped in front of an abandoned house, the wooden planks that once blocked the door from being entered were littered on the broken-down porch. "What an idiot," Timothy commented as he took his gun out of his holster, approaching the opened door. Rossi came behind him, making sure that the coast was clear.

The two stepped into the house, the floorboards creaking beneath their feet. Timothy winced as the sound pierced his ears, venturing deeper into the house with a careful foot. "Don't you come any closer!" A voice said as Rossi and Bela entered into a hallway. The voice was weak, tired, and out of breath. "I said don't you come any closer to me!"

"FBI! Stephen Jenkins, come out slowly, hands up." Rossi yelled gun brandished in front of him.

"I don't want any trouble. Just go away, don't come any closer!" Stephen called out again, his back against the wall. If he peered to the right a little, he could see the eyes of the men in a mirror that hung against the wall. "I have a gun, I'll use it."

"Yeah, so do we, kid." Timothy was confused. This man didn't seem like who they were looking for at all, he didn't seem like he'd hurt a fly. He was done playing the boy's game, hoping to hurry up the delay so he could get home to his family. "You have one last chance to get out here or I'm coming inside."

"I-i can't." 

"Why not?" Rossi asked, getting no reply in return. He motioned for Timothy quietly to go into the room at the looming silence, when suddenly a loud thud hit their ears. The two men raced into the room as the sounds of their team members slamming their car doors echoed outside.

Timothy entered the dusty, dark room first, desperately trying to find a source of light. He walked further into the room, pulling a cord that led to a light bulb in the middle of the room. Slightly turning, he rested his eyes on the body of Stephen Jenkins lying on the floor, shriveled in pain and frankly red as wine. The blonde boy, barely a man, struggled to breathe, his face turning pale as if he had been suddenly drained of all that was keeping him alive. Timothy's stomach dropped, and Rossi made his way to his partner's side to investigate. "Dear god," Rossi sighed, crouching to examine the pale body.

Stephen's body had bloody gashes all over him, carved into his chest like some satanic ritual. The young man looked up at the two men, fear written all over his face. His blue eyes were slightly dilated, his hands trembled, and his body squirmed.

"Stephen, who did this to you?" Timothy said, staring the young man in the eyes. 

"He..." Stephen started before choking on the blood that wound up in his throat. "He just wanted you to notice."

"Wanted who to notice what?" Rossi asked, holding pressure on Stephen's wounds, knowing it was no use.

"He wanted Timothy Bela... to notice." He said, finally succumbing to his injuries. The rest of the department entered the room, examining the scene as Rossi looked up at Timothy with confusion. Timothy's eyes never left the young man, his mind focused on what he was to notice.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ★ ✧꒱ ˎˊ˗

Valeria watched her mother pull out the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from the oven, the delicious smell immediately hitting her nostrils. Her mouth watered for the sweet treat, getting up from her spot across from her baby brother to her mother who was standing at the counter. "How much longer until we can eat the cookies, mama?" 

Meredith laughed, taking the oven mitts off of her hands. "In a few minutes, mi amor. They must cool down first."

Valeria nodded happily, going back to sit across from her little brother, Antonio. "I can't wait until you are able to eat cookies, Antonio. I think you'll like them!" Baby Antonio gurgled in response to his older sister, slamming his tiny hands on the baby seat tray. The girl grinned, going back to drawing on a piece of paper with her crayons. 

Meredith watched her children from afar with a sad smile, disappointed that her husband was missing out on all the little moments of their children's lives. She didn't regret moving to Quantico, it was a good environment for their family. She just wished that Timothy wasn't so occupied with solving crimes. The sound of loud knocking had taken the woman out of her thoughts, as she made her way to the front door.

As she opened the door, a tall man stood in front of her, a gun pointed at her forehead. Her eyes widened with fear, as she took three steps backward into the living room. It was a rare occasion for Meredith to let her nerves get the best of her, but her mind was blank as her eyes locked on the barrel of the gun. The man followed her inside, a sinister smile appearing on his face. "Meredith Bela, as beautiful as I remember. It's been a long time, don't you remember me?"

Meredith swallowed a sob, remembering that her children were in the next room. A faux smile appeared on her face as she smiled. "I do remember, of course, I do."

The man's smile dropped, a scowl taking its place. "Don't lie to me, darling."

"I-i'm not lying. I do remember you." Her voice waivered, the gun practically resting on her forehead. 

"No need to get defensive, Meredith. I'm just playing." He sneered. "I want to say hello to the kids, let's go to the kitchen." The woman planted her feet, shaking her head frantically.

"Please don't hurt them, take me. Don't hurt them." 

"Let's remember who has the gun and who is begging for their children's lives to be saved. The kitchen. Go!" He yelled, aggressively pulling her into the kitchen. Valeria looked up to see her mother in pain, tears flowing down her cheeks. She tilted her head in confusion, watching as the man bent down to her level. "Hello, Valeria."

"Hello. Do I know you?" She asked, staring into the man's cold, blue eyes. 

"I'm a friend of your father's."

"Daddy's not home, so maybe you should come back later." Valeria shrugged the man off, going back to coloring on her paper. "And you can't have any cookies because they aren't cooled off yet."

The man stood shocked at her manners, gritting his teeth with a fake smile. The girl's face didn't show an ounce of emotion like she didn't question his intentions at all. He was intrigued by the young girl, albeit amused. 

"That's enough, now leave our house." Meredith spat, wrestling her wrist out of the man's grip, grabbing a kitchen knife that lay on the counter. "Get out, now!"

Valeria turned to look at her mother, realizing that the man wasn't a friendly visitor. A chill ran down her spine as the man began to laugh, shaking his head at her mother. "And I thought you were always up for a challenge, Meredith. Truly a shame that we had to do this so quickly." He took out his gun with a sad sigh, resting his finger on the trigger.

And shooting her quickly between the eyes.

The young girl wasn't sure if there was a sound. Valeria felt so lightheaded that she knew it wasn't long before she would pass out. She blinked but couldn't see anything except her mother's cold, dead eyes on the floor.

The man smirked at his work, turning to face the two children. Antonio was bawling at the loud noise, not realizing what had happened, and Valeria stood still with shock and fear. The man approached the crying baby, attempting to coo him. "There, there. She wasn't that special anyways." 

"What are you gonna do?" Valeria croaked out, her mouth dry from tears.

"Excuse me?" 

"What are you gonna do with us?" She questioned.

"You see, I hadn't planned that far ahead." He spoke slowly, walking over to the counter and grabbing a cookie from the rack. He took a bite, chewing with his mouth open. "Cookie?" He offered, sitting back down at the table after getting no reply. "You see, I have to get rid of the evidence that I was here... which means you two have to go. And he'll finally notice me."

Valeria stood, staring at the table, not daring to look into the man's murderous eyes. "Go? Notice you?"

"Go. Die. Exterminate. Croak. There's a lot of ways to say it." He dismissed by waving his hands, grabbing a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket. He put the cigarette to his mouth, lighting the end of it. "It's a shame really, I was starting to like you guys."

"You can't cause a fire with just one cigarette." The girl said, crossing her arms. "You need a reactant of some sort to cause the fire. Which you didn't do."

"Which I did do, actually, little girl. Do you really think that I haven't planned this through? Watch and-" He said, coughing as his cigarette smoke hit his lungs. Valeria raised an eyebrow at the man, rolling her eyes in disbelief. Amid his coughing fit, he dropped the lit cigarette on the table. The tablecloth immediately burst into flames, catching on the man. He screamed out in pain as the flames engulfed him, Valeria rushing to unbuckle her younger brother from his seat.

The man fell backward as the flames got wider, soon covering half of the kitchen. Valeria ran out into the living room with her brother in her grasp, looking for a way to escape. "This is why you don't smoke, Antonio." She said out of nervousness, as the fire captured the wall of the house. 

They were trapped inside.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ★ ✧꒱ ˎˊ˗

Timothy Bela bid Rossi goodbye as he finally finished his paperwork for the case. Though it hadn't gone the way that he wanted it to go, they were closer to solving the murders. As he headed out the door, an agent ran to him, calling his name. "Bela! Bela! Bela!" 

The man turned, eyes finding the panicked state of the agent. "Bernhards? What's going on?"

"Your house! It's all over the news!"

"My house? The man questioned his eyes widening in worry. "Bernhards, what's wrong with my house? Finish your sentence, goddammit!"

"It's on fire...!" The man said, exasperated and out of breath. "Your house is on fire!"

Bela didn't hear the man any longer as he ran to his car, racing down the streets to get to his house. Fear ran in his veins as he thought about his family, wondering if they had made it outside yet. Little did he know, they were still inside. 

By the time Timothy got to his house, news anchors surrounded the lawn. The house was up in flames, immediately consuming everything from the inside. He spotted his neighbors, running over to them and asking multitudes of questions. "Did Meredith and the kids make it out? Has anyone called the fire department? Has anyone gone in yet to check?" The neighbors shook their heads in worry, watching the flames blaze. 

Everyone outside had no idea what to do while they waited for the fire department to get there. Nobody dared to run inside and start saving the family themselves. 

Worry struck the man's features as he started to strip himself of his jacket and tie. One neighbor, Eugenia Miller, a kind lady from across the street, grabbed his arm. "You are not going in there, Timothy." 

"I'm not letting my family burn alive. Every second that fire is getting worse and worse and my children are in there." He broke himself free from her grip, hogging into the house. The flames flew behind him as he kicked down the door, entering the house. 

"Dear god, that man is a maniac," Eugenia muttered, joining the rest of the neighbors. 

Timothy ran into the kitchen, stumbling upon the burnt body of the man, his gun still in his hands. The agent furrowed his eyebrows, looking at where the table once was, before seeing the body of his wife. He choked back a sob, covering his mouth with his hands, pressing the white sleeve of his uniform to his mouth to breathe. "Meredith, amore mio." He whispered, exiting the kitchen after not bearing to see the sight any longer. "Valeria? Valeria, where are you?" He called out, his hope leaving him every second.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✧ ★ ✧꒱ ˎˊ˗

The only thing that Valeria could process during the smoke was the pain she was in. Her broken heart, her ears ringing, and a burn on her right thigh. She held her brother close to her, putting her thin sleeve over his mouth so he could breathe filtered air. She placed a kiss on his forehead, closing her eyes. "We're going to be okay, little brother. I promise. They're coming for us." As she calmed herself down, she visualized firefighters calling out her name, hoping they would reach her on time. 

She was exhausted; her throat burned with every swallow, her muscles ached, and her lungs were starting to sting from the gathering smoke that slowly leaked into the enclosed space that they were trapped in. It didn't help that Antonio started crying once again. With nothing to calm him down with, she closed her eyes tight, praying that someone would save them soon.

"Valeria!" She heard a voice shout from somewhere. "Valeria?"

"In here!" She cried out with all that was left in her. "Help! Please help!" A sob ripped from her throat, joining the cries of her younger brother. 

Timothy appeared, moving rubble out of the doorway as he entered the room. He gazed at the sight of his two children, rushing to hold them in his arms as they cried. "Valeria, Antonio. You're okay, I got you."

"Daddy, mama's dead." Valeria cried into her father's shoulder. "She's gone!"

"I know, baby. I know." He soothed, rubbing her hair. He pulled away from his daughter, noticing the large burn on her leg. "Your leg, Valeria. Can you walk on it?"

"I don't think I can."

He looked behind him at the doorway, watching as small flames began to form at the bottom of it. Cradling Antonio in his left arm, he picked up the young girl with his right. "Hold your breath, Valeria, close your eyes for me." She did what she was told as the agent made his way through the fire, making sure his children were not harmed any further. He met the fire department halfway, sobbing in relief as they made it completely out of the house.

Valeria and Antonio were taken out of his arms as he collapsed to his knees on the front lawn. A paramedic ran to his side, grasping his shoulders. "Sir, you have to calm down. Let us check you out." He cried out, his head touching the cool, wet grass. 

Rossi arrived at the scene, racing toward his best friend. "Timothy, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay." 

"Meredith is dead." Timothy gasped out, looking up at the man. Rossi helped him up, leading him to the back of an ambulance to get checked out. "Valeria and Antonio-"

"They'll be okay," Rossi reassured, nodding to the paramedic as she finished checking on him. "They're together, on their way to the hospital. You're going too."

"I'm done with this, Rossi." Timothy looked back at his friend as he was put into an ambulance to join his children. "I can't do this anymore. This happened because of me. I quit."